


Clouds for My Troubles

by Sheksper



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, American Sign Language, Art, Background Character Death, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Bodyguard Keith, Child Abuse, Dehumanization, Drug Use, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Relationships, Fluff and Angst, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, Langst, M/M, Military Keith, Minor Character Death, Mutilation, References to Shakespeare, Sign Language, Slow Burn, Soldier Keith, Stargazing, Swearing, Underage Smoking, deaf keith, enucleation, gangsta au, klangst, rich lance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-11-19 23:57:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11324400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheksper/pseuds/Sheksper
Summary: Expendable to everyone but each other, the scion of an elite family and a boy soldier of the Galra ranks, brought together under less than ideal circumstances, form an unbreakable bond.A story of what happens when love is forged of cigarette ash, dog tags, and abandonment issues in a rioting nation on the verge of genocide.





	1. West Altea Mercenary Troops

**Author's Note:**

> This is Lance and Keith but with the backstory of Worrick and Nick from Gangsta.  
> If you haven't watched or read Gangsta, I recommend it, it's good stuff.  
> This is definitely one huge spoiler for Gangsta though so just a heads up.  
> Voltron; Legendary Defender is owned by DreamWorks Animation TV, World Events Productions, and Studio Mir. Gangsta is owned by Kohske.  
> Anywho, enjoy.

Lance McClain, if you asked him, would tell you that he found his studies important. That, however, would be a lie. Much like any regular teens like him, Lance favoured certain subjects over others. English class was his favourite by far. Science wasn’t too bad. Math was even bearable. But history? Lance loathed history. It was long, drawn out, boring, and useless. Repeating history was often warned against, but Lance just couldn’t buy into it. Even when he attempted to trick himself into enjoying the class, it still gave him a headache. It wasn’t as if he could ditch it either, that would be fairly difficult considering he was the only kid in the class. Being homeschooled was a joy, as always.

There he sat, hunched over his notes on the table in front of him, listening to the teacher drone on and on. What was she even talking about? She kept writing down keywords on the board and reading from the book held in her other hand. It was curled and bent in the worst position, permanently folded. Lance grimaced every time she did that to her books, which was every class, and he disliked her for it. Books were an integral component of Lance’s life. He flicked his pencil in annoyance. 

"The unification of West Altea and East Altea was the main cause of many advancements in the field of science. Specifically, the creation of the biological enhancer known as Quintessence. It was used to optimize the abilities of soldiers, and although it did, it also damaged the minds of people too. Many people died from the effects of the drug as it has a lot of addictive potential and toxicity.” She rattled on about more pointless information that Lance would never need to know. Quintessence wasn’t even legal in West Altea. In fact, it wasn’t legal anywhere in The Altean Cities. Lance knew to stay away from it regardless.

Rather than pay attention, Lance etched mindless scribbles in the margin of his notes. His chin was rested against his palm but he removed it in order to scratch at his neck. The teacher’s voice became a steady white noise in the back of his mind as he twirled lines and shapes along the minimal space he had. Eventually, her volume increased dramatically and Lance startled in his chair. 

“Master Lance!” Her cold eyes bore straight into him. “If you would please pay attention during class time and stop doodling.” She gritted out. A cynical hag, she was. 

After shuffling around in his seat for a moment, Lance forced himself to listen to what she was explaining once again, even going so far as to set his pencil down in an attempt to resist the temptation. 

“Many offspring of Quintessence users display hereditary congenital abnormalities which result in superior physical abilities as well as physiological and mental disorders. Because of these abnormalities, they rely on frequent Quintessence dosages to keep the withdrawal symptoms under control.” She detailed some diagrams on the board which showcased the positives and the negatives to being born of heavy Quintessence users. “Due to the addictive properties and the toxicity of Quintessence, as well as the medical issues it causes, these people often live very short lifespans of thirty to forty years. These people are called Galra.” 

Lance had heard of Galra before, although, he had never really come in contact with one. That was the point, though. Alteans weren’t exactly supposed to interact with the Galra. On top of that, Lance was a pretty sheltered kid. The McClain estate employed its own military troops to guard and patrol the grounds, and God forbid Lance ever attempt to leave the property. He knew what happened when he tried something as foolish as that. And so, as it stood, Lance would never see a Galran in the flesh, but he had heard they were savage killers who could crush people’s skulls with their bare hands. Perhaps he didn’t want to meet a Galran. 

The teacher continued her lesson about the effects of the drugs as well as the variations in the Galra population, but Lance, as usual, hardly paid attention. He didn’t doodle again; if he did, the teacher would report his behaviour to his father. Lance shivered at the thought. Instead, he supported his chin with the heel of his hand and watched the birds outside the window. At first it only served to numb his boredom, but then he noticed a large group of people marching on the other side of the large gate surrounding the yard. It was fairly far away, but Lance could tell they were wearing camouflage and carrying guns; the new military troop. After his father had fired the last patrols, they had been in the market for new guards. Lance supposed that was them since he was never informed of such things. 

The group continued on, making their way to the front of the property, no doubt. Voices rose up from the crowd, but Lance couldn’t make out anything they were saying. They were too far away and there was too much talking at once. Speaking of talking at once…

A ruler smacked down on the table Lance was seated at and he flung himself backwards into his seat, eyes widened. “Master Lance, I will not tell you again.” Icy words spilled from her mouth as she pointedly stared over her glasses and directly into Lance’s eyes. He nodded in understanding. Satisfied, she returned to her spot at the board and continued the lesson on Quintessence. 

“All identified Galra are required to be tested for the level of Quintessence they possess. Which is why we have the Voltron Rating Scale. The lowest being D/4, and the highest being S/0.” She began writing every variation in between with her whiteboard pen. “The more Quintessence used by the parents, the higher the rating will be for their child. Higher ratings mean more powerful and more dangerous Galra.” 

Lance snuck another quick glance out the window while she was writing something else on the board and noticed a smaller soldier – a much smaller soldier, and they weren’t even wearing military garbs – being herded away from the gate. Lance narrowed his eyes in confusion but quickly returned his attention to the teacher when she turned around. 

Class went on and Lance did take some notes. They were more of a garbled mess than anything, but Lance could decipher them later when the need arose. His chair scraped along the hardwood floor and he gathered up the papers he had brought. Keeping a notebook, or even a folder, would probably be a wise decision, but Lance never remembered to hunt for one or the other. It always slipped his mind. So, he made his way out of the classroom and to the library without any distraction or deterrence in his path.

The library was by far the best room in the entire estate. No one else seemed to think so, though, because not once in all his seventeen years of life had he ever seen anyone else enter that room. Only him. That, as much as it saddened him to know that no one was there to appreciate the books, was also an enormous relief. He relished in time alone, especially when it was just to read. When you live in a house full of maids, butlers, workers, military, chefs, and everyone under the damn sun, it’s really no wonder you might want to get away for awhile. 

Today was different, however. Lance wasn’t there to reread one of his favourite tales again, or search for some new gem he had yet to discover. No, he was only there to drop off his thin pile of notes. Pulling on the brass door handle, the large, white door opened without so much as a creak, and Lance slipped in. 

Afternoon sunlight pooled in from the skylight at the centre of the room, coating the wooden bookshelves in its glow. The corners of the library remained at low contrast where the sun couldn’t reach. Shelf after shelf wove their way through the grand room, obscuring the view of Lance’s miniature hideaway. Lance stepped forward, staring up through the skylight for a moment, but quickly glancing away when the bright summer sun burned his eyes. Dust particles floated around him through the air. Blowing on a couple, they flitted in a cluster, spiralling and dancing. Lance smiled at that. It was a very mundane thing of him to enjoy, but afternoons were his favourite for the very reason that the library felt like a portal to another world. A calm, serene world with just him in it. There were lights in the library, obviously, but the magic would be ruined if they were turned on.

Lance meandered through the rows of shelves, heels of his shoes echoing as they hit the floor, until he came to the back of the room. A large stack of papers was balanced precariously on a small wooden desk near the back. Rather than move them so they wouldn’t fall, Lance just added to the problem, placing his class notes on top with the rest of them.

His hand slipped into the pocket of his coat and he pulled out a pack of cigarettes, tossing them onto the desk beside the paper. After removing his stuffy jacket and draping it carelessly over the back of the chair there, he scooped up the cigarette pack and strode back out of the library.

The books were his pride and joy, he loved them more than anything else in his life, and he wasn’t about to damage them just because he needed a smoke. He would go outside for that. 

Along the way to the back door, he passed a maid who was carrying a stack of bedsheets but he didn’t say anything to her. He never really spoke to the staff at the estate. It wasn’t because he was rude or stuck up, he just knew their opinion of him and would much rather avoid picking at his insecurities. She avoided eye contact as they passed. 

Once he was to one of the many exits leading to the backyard, he headed straight for the gate by the big tree. It was the same gate he had seen the soldier pass by on the other side, but coincidentally, it was his favourite place to smoke. He loosened his tie as he made his way there, not caring much for his appearance any longer. Suits weren’t really his thing, but he was forced to wear them since he was the scion. To have someone as high up as him be wearing anything less would be a disgrace on the McClain name. 

His father never came out to the yard though, and that was who he was really worried about. For his father to find him in such a state of what he would call ‘delinquent dress’ as well as smoking. That would mean sudden death, for sure. 

Lance pulled a cigarette out of the pack and stuffed it into his pocket. He placed it at his lips and rooted around in his other pocket until he located the lighter. The metal glinted in the sun and Lance reached it up to flick the flame against the end of his cig. His stress was instantly relieved as he took a drag and pulled it away from his mouth. All his problems seemed to leave him on the exhale and he relaxed his back farther into the fence behind him. Turning the lighter around in his hand, he inspected the blue plastic, tracing his thumb along the insignia marked on the side. 

He pocketed the lighter and let his head fall against the bar of the fence with a low thud. Dully, it throbbed for a moment, but he just closed his eyes and ignored it. The warmth from the sun felt rejuvenating on his face and he smoked his cigarette once more. With one eye barely opened, he watched the rings of smoke puff out and into the sky, breaking and fading as they went. It was a neat trick he had taught himself to do. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards at the smoke circles. 

A light breeze fluttered through his hair and he held his cigarette in his mouth to roll up his sleeves. The feeling of the air careening over his bare arms was a comfortable counter to the warmth of the sun. Lance pulled his cig out of his mouth again. 

Footsteps suddenly entered his hearing range and he turned to see a soldier and a kid approaching him. The soldier looked exactly like every other soldier on the team apart from the black eyepatch covering his right eye. The kid couldn’t have been older than Lance himself, although he was shorter. His jacket was a murky green, but it didn’t have the same print as the other soldiers. Black pants covered his legs and his laced boots were tattered and worn. Dog tags hung from around his neck and he held a sheathed sword in one of his hands, which had fingerless gloves, Lance noted. Nothing he wore appeared to actually fit him properly, all far too big. 

The kid’s hair was unruly and hanging in his eyes but no amount of styling could hide the fact it was a mullet. Lance would have focused on that more, but he hardly could once he noticed the murderous gaze and the cuts and scrapes adorning the kid’s face, neck, and what little of his chest was revealed by his lowcut tank top. 

“Master Lance.” The soldier greeted, yanking Lance from his observations. 

Lance turned to face the man. “Hmm?” He hummed as he drew another puff from his cigarette.

“As of today, I am the new commander of the guards for this estate for the next six months. I’m Commander Sendak of the West Altea Mercenary Troops. Up until last week, I was in charge of conflict zone two.” He nodded, but his eyes were uncaring.

“Nice to meet you.” Lance answered. It wasn’t so much that he really did find it nice to meet the commander, but more out of formality. Something about the man didn’t sit well with Lance, so he changed the topic. “Who’s he?” He asked, pointing his cigarette to the angry-looking boy next to the commander.

“This,” He pressed his hand into the boy’s back and shoved him forward, more toward Lance. “is your new bodyguard.” Lance’s eyes met the boy’s and they stared, each sizing the other up. “Mr. McClain requested that we provide one for you. From now on, he’ll stay by your side and protect you. No matter what.” Sendak removed his hand from the boy’s shoulder and the kid bowed stiffly at Lance. 

And to top everything off, Lance was stuck with the boy holding the sword. Great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case y'all're interested, I made some [art](https://sheksper.tumblr.com/post/169745301335/so-these-are-the-drawings-i-made-for-my-fic) of Lance and Keith in the style of the Gangsta manga. As best I could anyway...


	2. Fair Is Foul and Foul Is Fair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go??????  
> Enjoy????  
> ??

Lance’s finger traced over the edges of the books in the library, his eyes scanning the titles. _All’s Well That Ends Well, King Lear, Romeo and Juliet._ He had read them all a thousand times over. Shakespeare was his favourite reading material by a wide margin and he never tired of reading, rereading, and analyzing his many different plays. If he wasn’t smoking, he was reading something from the library.

Except, this time, he couldn’t enjoy a good story if he tried because of the presence behind him. Lance leered out the corner of his eye to watch the shorter boy with the sword. He looked impressed and astounded as his gaze roamed the shelves but his sword was still clutched firmly in his fist. Lance took great pride in the library, so it pleased him to see this reaction, but it didn’t lighten the annoyance he felt. He didn’t need a bodyguard, why would he?

 _A bodyguard? More like a spy._ Lance bitterly thought to himself, turning back to the books. _Julius Caesar, Much Ado About Nothing, The Merchant of Venice._ After much distracted debate, Lance decided on _Macbeth_ , his personal favourite. He pulled it from its spot on the shelf and began heading toward the entrance of the library. Normally, he would read inside the library where he felt safe and cozy, but the library was his and his alone. Sharing the library was not something he was fond of in the least. As long as the kid was trailing behind him, he would read somewhere else.

His echoing footsteps were joined a moment later by the distanced sound of the other boy trailing him. _Why would they hire a kid anyway? What good could a kid do, he’s the same age as me!_ Lance hunched his shoulders farther into himself and sped up his pace. He didn’t bother to hold the door open behind him, letting it close on his bodyguard. _Who cares. He’ll be gone as fast as the last one._

Once out of the library, Lance began to head for the exact same place he had been having his cigarette earlier, but instead of ending at the fence, he veered off toward a large tree next to it. As fast as he could without actually running away from the kid with the sword, Lance beelined for the tree trunk and hoisted himself up into the branches. Leaves shook from their stems as he did so, blowing softly in the warm wind. After he had swiftly adjusted himself into a seated position, he crossed one leg over the other and leaned his back into the trunk, propping his book open on his thighs to begin reading.

Before he did, he chanced a look at the military kid, hoping he wouldn’t attempt to climb up after him. He didn’t. The boy just glared up at him for a moment, his dark eyes boring into Lance’s very being, before turning to lean himself into the base of the tree, setting his sword up against his leg and crossing his arms. The jacket wrapping his arms bunched up awkwardly at the motion. It wasn’t anywhere close to a battle-ready stance and although there wasn’t much danger going on in that moment, Lance couldn’t help but feel as though he was slacking.

Lance didn’t say anything. He just immersed himself in the tragic world of Macbeth, skimming the lines he had read so many time before and delivering his arguments for everything mentally as he usually did. Almost unaware of himself, Lance reached into his pocket and removed another cigarette, shaking it free of its packaging to bring it to his lips. After he lit it, he removed the stick from his mouth and puffed the smoke outwards, away from his book. He wasn’t so rude to aim it at his bodyguard though, choosing the other side.

The afternoon air rustled the leaves around him and the scent of smoke filled his nostrils. Everything was exactly as he liked it most. Rays of light radiated through the trees as they shifted in the breeze, casting patterns along his book and face, but he didn’t mind, the warmth was inviting. Chirping birds swooped about in the sky, sometimes landing on the grass of even in Lance’s tree. He wasn’t much a fan of birds, but regardless, he remained as still as possible so as to not scare them away.

He sat there in the tree for hours, submerging his mind in theories and meanings behind each event. A small pile of cigarettes lay at the base of the tree by the time he had finished his reread. The kid was watching the last one drop to the grass with the others before staring back up at Lance once again. Vaguely, Lance wondered how the kid wasn’t blistering hot in his heavy-duty jacket, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he closed the book and tucked it under his arm, swinging off the branch and landing gracefully on the ground. He didn’t wait for Sword Boy once again. Lance shook his leg slightly as he walked, the pins and needles feeling spreading through his leg from the prolonged amount of time he had spent with it curled over his other leg in the tree branches.

The pair made their way back into the estate, passing through one of the many lavish hallways decorated with flower vases and red curtains. The huge windows looked out over the yard and the tree Lance had been sitting in as well. From the angle, you wouldn’t be able to see Lance in the tree, but his guard would have been very obvious. So much for hiding.

Many maids were milling about the halls, carrying bedsheets and pillows. As Lance passed by a group of them, he could hear them whispering. It wasn’t that he wanted to hear what they were saying, but he couldn’t help it.

“They already assigned a new guard?” One whispered loudly.

“That kid is such a nuisance.” The oldest of the three muttered under her breath.

“He’s nothing at all like Young Master Allura.” The first added. Lance gripped his book tightly, his knuckles turning white as he passed by.

“This is my first time seeing him. He doesn’t take after his mother, does he?” The third one – who had been quiet up until that point – spoke up.

“Don’t you know? He’s a bastard child.”

A light gasp escaped one of them. “What? Really?”

“The rumour is that Mr. McClain used to visit the brothels and–”

She was cut off. “Quiet! He’ll hear us!” The three nervously shuffled off down the halls, lugging the bedsheets with them.

The damage had been done. Lance wanted to scream. He knew how everyone thought about him but that didn’t make it easier to hear it. Hags, that’s what they all were. Lance was completely aware of the way he had been born and he didn’t need a bunch of old, gossiping maids reminding him of how worthless he was. Not a day went by when he wasn’t being compared to Allura and he was sick of it. He was sick of all of it.

Shoulders shaking and teeth grit painfully together, Lance stalked off toward his room as rapidly as he could. He could hear the trailing footsteps of the kid following behind him and it just made him angrier.

Once at his bedroom, he slammed the door shut and locked it behind him. At first, he was about to throw the book in his hand across the room, just so he could release some anger, but he couldn’t bring himself to damage his book, he just couldn’t. Instead, he tossed it onto his bed and flopped down next to it. A deep sigh escaped him and he gathered the blankets up around him, curling himself into a giant roll of comfort. His tie dug into his throat, causing the fabric of his shirt to scrape against his skin uncomfortably. It wasn’t long before supper, but no one would notice if he missed it. Lance himself wouldn’t notice if he missed dinner. The tie was unraveled and thrown across the room, followed shortly by the rest of his clothes as he changed into the pyjamas laid neatly on top of his pillow.

Sleep found him quickly as his rage cooled into deep-seated resentment, even though he was laying across his bed in an awkward angle and the covers weren’t exactly covering him.

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

Guarding someone who was actively avoiding you was more of a struggle than he had originally thought. Following Lance around and making sure no one harmed him was easy enough, but there was something so uptight about him that just rubs a person the wrong way. It was only his first day and luckily nothing had happened, but a part of him just wanted to be able to wield his sword, or anything really. He enjoyed forcing his body to the extreme – as unhealthy as that was – but Lance just wanted to sit in a tree for hours and then lock himself in his room. It seemed that Lance was not going to be exiting for the rest of the night. Even if Lance did, his role as bodyguard ended at 8:00 and he had been standing guard outside Lance’s door for long enough that by the time he glanced to the clock, it was already 8:30. The sun was setting outside the large windows of the third floor, dipping into the horizon.

Kicking himself off the wall, the boy with the sword sighed and made his way back down the hallway where he could remember his quarters being. He slept in the same room as the rest of the military soldiers did, seeing as they were his troop, although he wouldn’t have been surprised if he weren’t given a bed. That was fairly common.

His sword dragged lightly along the hallway carpet as he went but he stared confidently ahead, searching for the room. A couple maids passed him and he could see each one gawk at him out of the corner of his eye. He knew he wasn’t the most approachable person, especially considering he looked like he had been through the wringer and hadn’t slept since, but it still bothered him when people stared.

Finally, he found the room where everyone was. Bright lights were seeping out from under the door, contrasting with the darkened hallways. Slowly as he was able, he pressed the door open, just enough for him to sneak inside without drawing attention to himself. From what he could tell, no one had noticed his arrival.

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

Everyone was laughing and joking with each other, clinking their beer cans and sharing stories of their first day at the McClain estate. “So, how’d it go? You got McClain’s son, right? What’s his name again? Lance?” A man asked as he watched the youngest member of the troop enter.

The kid didn’t answer, instead turning to slip through the crowd toward where the beds were located. This only angered the man though and he stood to rip the boy back by the collar of his jacket. “Hey!” The man brought his flat hand across the kid’s face, hard. Everyone heard it connect, a sickening slap ringing out. The sword dropped from the boy’s hands and he crumpled to the floor, completely caught off guard at the action. “Don’t ignore me, you little shit!” Leaning down, he gripped the kid by his collar again, landing a fist against his face.

That was as far as he got though, before the other soldiers of the troop were yanking him off the boy on the ground. “Knock it off! He doesn’t understand a word you’re saying!” The soldier wiped his hand along his pant leg as if it had been infected by merely touching the teen. He glared down over his nose.

“Hey boss?” Someone else directed at the commander. “How long’re you gonna drag around this deaf runt for?”

The boy pressed his nose to his jacket sleeve, letting the blood seep into the fabric, staining it. His coat had been covered in blood many times before and he had cared less and less each time, so he hardly paid it any mind. Stumbling to his feet, the boy grabbed his sword from where it had slid away.

“Mutts can go for a lot of money. I’ll hold onto him until our next Kerberos mission. But McClain will be mad if he finds out we brought a tag in here, so keep quiet about it and don’t rough him up too much.” Commander Sendak explained, glaring seriously at the group of soldiers around him before his eyes landed on the teen hurrying away to the bunks in the connected room.

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

Sun streamed in through the window curtains, signalling the start of a new day. Groggily, he opened his eyes and blinked against he sudden shift in light. For a moment, he sat there, soaking up his situation and letting the events from the previous day. Eventually he would need to get out of his brick of a bed and report to Lance’s bedroom. He sighed. The troops around him were all just leaving, him being the last one to awaken since his shift started later. Sitting up in his bed, he glared at the light and yawned. It was early enough that the sun had just begun to tickle the horizon.

His baggy tank top hung off one of his shoulders and he dragged it back into place. Dog tags clinked against each other as he shifted the blankets off his legs. Throbbing pain radiated through his nose and eye. He hadn’t changed out of his working clothes before he had fallen asleep the night before, aside from his jacket. It was too heavy and restricting. His hair was a tangled mess and he ran his hands through a few times to get the knots out as best he could, making his way to the bathroom.

The lights burned his eyes and he squinted at his reflection. Well, one of his eyes was already forced into a squint, swelled and bruised so much that he couldn’t open it farther if he wanted. Gingerly, he touched his fingertips to the purple splotch on his nose and leaned closer to the mirror. It sparked pain through his entire face and he cringed, hissing at the feeling. Dried blood lined his nostril. Another sigh escaped him and he removed his hands in favour of placing them on the edges of the sink. Nothing he could do about it anyway, and he glared at himself in the mirror once more – the bags under his eyes deepening by the second – then turned to leave the bathroom.

Seating himself back onto the edge of his bed, he dragged his boots out from the underneath of his bunk, slipping his feet in and doing up the laces as tight as he was able. The boots weren’t his originally and therefore didn’t fit him properly, but he could work with them and that was enough. His jacket was thrown onto the foot of his bed and he leaned across the blankets to retrieve it. Tugging it on, he stood again, scooping his sword up from where he had left it on the floor under the bed.

Stretching his arms out in front of them and shifting them upwards, he felt the satisfying pop of his joints. He dropped his arms, cracked his neck to the side, and then exited the room. Retracing his steps from the day before, he made his way back to Lance’s sleeping quarters. The few maids up at that hour all watched him pass just as they had the night before, but it was accompanied by widened eyes and double takes. No doubt, the result of his bruises.

Lance’s door came into view as he rounded the corner and he adjusted the grip on his sword unconsciously. He leaned himself against the wall next to the door and waited for the rich kid to exit. They were on the third floor so there was no way that Lance would jump out the window to escape him. Propping his sword against his thigh again, he picked at the peeled leather of his gloves and flicked the pieces into the middle of hallway. No one passed by the room, which made waiting much easier. He wasn’t sure he could just stand there while someone attempted to talk to him, or worse, stare at him like an animal in the zoo. That’s what people usually did. His fingers threaded around the chain of his dog tags, pinching and pulling them tighter until the tips began to turn purple from lack of blood flow, then he released them, rubbing his thumb over the indents.

Suddenly the door next to him opened and he turned to stare at Lance. When their eyes connected, a look of shock overcame Lance’s face and his mouth hung open slightly. The bruises… again…

He shifted his sword back into his hand and nodded his head deeply at the scion, emulating respect, although he didn’t mean it. Lance didn’t say anything about the injuries on the boy’s face and he was grateful for that, silently following behind his mission as they made their way to some other area of the enormous estate that he had never been to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have sixteen other fanfiction ideas which I'm working on all at once and honestly @ me what do you even think you're doing ???


	3. Dog Tags

Class, as always was enough to lull Lance to sleep if he wasn’t careful. It was more stuff about the Galra, which seemed to be the theme of the week. Lance flicked his pencil against his papers and stared dully at the teacher.

“Now, in 1913, Kerberos was established as the isolation camp for quarantining Quintessence users.” She curled her book in one hand and pointed to a map she had pasted on the whiteboard. “The only problem was that as the population of users and Galrans increased, the facility was forced to grow too. Eventually it grew too big, however, and it was made into its own city in the middle of the Altean Cities known as Kerberos.”

The way she delivered the history made Kerberos sound much simpler than it was. Lance, having been there before, knew that it was not so cut-and-dry. Many of the buildings were crumbling and falling apart. Streets were filled with trash and homeless people. There wasn’t a street corner that didn’t have a prostitute attempting to lure money out of anyone who passed by. Hitmen were well known friends of the police. Gangs and groups roamed and sulked at night. Brothels were as common as gas stations and smoke could be smelled from anywhere in the city.

People drugged up on Quintessence would fit right in, Lance supposed.

The teacher continued. “But even still, Galra are being found outside the city. The government is looking to collect and quarantine them to Kerberos, which is why there is a price to any unidentified Galrans brought forward. It is also why all identified Galrans must wear government supplied tags around their necks.” Lance knew what the tags looked like. His eyes unconsciously shifted toward the door where his bodyguard stood watch, not paying any attention to the lesson, just glaring at nothing and gripping his sword too hard. At first, he stared at the tags around the boy’s neck, but his gaze shifted. The purple and blue colouring around his face was even more prominent in the harsh, white lighting of the classroom and Lance noticed the bruises extended along his neck too, although more faded and healed there.

Memories flashed in his mind. He had seen bruises like that before, along his own skin. Alcohol. Bottles on the table, on the floor. Smashed glass and spilled drink. Fists and hard, unseeing eyes. Words. Loud and hard. Yelling, screaming, echoing. Pain shooting through his shoulder, through his cheek, through his neck, through his head. Tears and pleas. Worthless, unwanted, mistake, disgusting, traitor, insignificant, useless, bastard.

Reality pulled him back suddenly and Lance realized he had been staring at the boy for far too long, the teacher already onto the next topic. Sword still in hand and gaze still hardened and expecting, the kid hadn’t moved. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Lance turned back to the class, but no amount of concentration could bring his thoughts back to the lesson. He attempted to take notes but his hands were shaking and his breathing was too uneven. The words the teacher was saying fell on deaf ears as all he could hear was the too-loud beating of his own heart. If only to calm himself down, Lance scribbled on the sheet in front of him, messy and without reason, releasing the tension he had built up. The room suddenly felt smaller and more closed in, but he struggled through the lesson anyways.

Once it was over, Lance made a beeline for the door, needing to leave as fast as he could. A smoke was all he wanted, just one. The cigarette packet weighed heavy in his pocket and he sped down the hallway and out the door leading to the backyard. His papers were forgotten on the table in the class, but he didn’t care. It wasn’t as if he had written anything useful on them anyways. The sword kid followed behind him as usual, his stride purposeful. Lance could feel the eyes of the other boy digging into his skull, or perhaps he was just too on edge.

He reached the fence, dropping like a stone into the grass. His jacket felt suffocating and he tore it off, tossing it to the side. Grass stains would probably cover his white shirt, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, laying back on the ground and digging a cig out before lighting it. Almost instantly, relief flooded him. Smoking was a real escape for Lance, even though he knew it was unhealthy. The sunlight blanketed his face and he puffed out a smoke ring toward the sky in response.

The soldier kid cautiously approached, seating himself in the grass next to Lance, close enough that he was still guarding, but not too close that they would be considered friendly by any passersby. He crossed his legs and folded into himself, shoulders hunching and head lowering. His cold, calculating eyes continued to scan the surrounding area though, ever vigilant.

It occurred to Lance, as he watched the boy for a moment, that he hadn’t talked to him once. Heck, he didn’t even know the boy’s name.

“So, what’s your name?” Lance asked casually, taking another drag of his cigarette while he waited for the answer. Except, there wasn’t an answer. His eyebrows furrowed and he turned more towards the kid. “Hey.” No response. Lance sat up on his elbows. “ _I said,_ what’s your name?” After a couple seconds of silence, Lance pushed himself into a sitting position “Hey, are you ignoring me?” He grabbed the boy’s arm and roughly yanked at him. The kid turned to him, eyes wide and startled but still bright and angry. He attempted to take his arm back, but Lance didn’t let him. “What did I do? Did my dad tell you not to talk to me?!” Eyes stared down at Lance’s mouth as he shouted.

The boy shook his head, eyes narrowed and lips in a hard line. Lifting a hand to point at his ear, he explained. “I can’t…” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “I can’t hear.” It was a garbled variation of the English language and Lance almost thought he was speaking a different language altogether, but as soon as the message became clear, Lance’s eyes widened. His grasp on his bodyguard’s arm slacked and he just gaped.

“What…?”

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

Rapping sounded on the door once again, but Lance ignored it, curling farther into the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. His chin dug into his knees, which were curled up to his chest, and he hug his legs closer. The lights were off in his room. He preferred to be able to hide.

“Young Master?” One of the maids knocking on his door called through the wood. They had been there for some time, attempting to lure him out of the room, or, at the very least, make sure he was alright. Lance didn’t bother to answer them, though. He hoped they would leave if he hid long enough like they usually did, he just wanted to be left alone. Sure, he had fled to the safety of his bedroom extremely quickly after learning that the sword kid was deaf, and he could understand their concern. He didn’t feel bad, though. The maids didn’t really care about him, he knew.

“Master Lance?” A maid tried again. Still, Lance kept his mouth shut, pressing it harder into his leg as he made himself smaller on the bed. “Please come out of your room.”

A different voice piped up. “Master McClain will be most upset if–” She was cut off by the smashing of glass. The three maids outside his door let out startled yelps at the sudden, sharp noise. Lance stared at the glass on the floor at the entrance to the room. He wasn’t sure why he had thrown the empty water cup at the door, but something about the mention of his father had just set him off. His breathe came out harsher than it should have and he let his arm down slowly from where it had stayed, suspended in the air after throwing the glass.

“For heaven’s sake.” One of them sighed.

“What could it be this time?” The exasperation was clear in her voice. Lance just grew more and more frustrated, clenching his fists in the blanket around him and stretching it tighter.

There was shifting outside. “Well, there’s nothing we can do. Leave him.”

As the three maids turned, Lance could hear the last spitting remark of who he recognized as the oldest of the group. “By this point, the boy’s made it clear he’s good for nothing.” Her tone was bitter.

Lance’s knuckles turned white as he clutched the blanket. His eyes widened as he glared at the closed door. _Me?! Good for nothing?! He’s the one who’s good for nothing! He’s deaf! He’d be totally useless in a fight! And he’s a kid!_ Teeth gritted and muscles twitching, he wanted to hit someone or something. Hopeless anger and frustration coursed through his veins as he ran the comment over in his mind, the words melting together with the many times his father had repeated similar sentiments. He wanted to cry, run away, fight, and sleep for an eternity all at the same time. _Why?_ He thought desperately. _Why do Allura and my step-mom both get real guards…? And I get…_ His father’s words filled his head again. That’s right. He didn’t get a real guard because he wasn’t worth the efforts. Lance let his forehead bury into his knees.

The room was silent and Lance attempted to focus on the lack of noise, an effort to distract his mind from the train of thought it had taken. He breathed in deeply, holding back tears and letting the air out in a shaky breath, the only sound in the room. It was working, to an extent, and he could feel his heart rate slow ever so slightly.

Then there was another knock on the door.

Lance let out a frustrated yell. “Leave me alone already!” His hand reached for the closest thing he could reach, _Macbeth,_ which he had left in his room the day before. He chucked it hard at the door, just as he had with the glass. Except, before it could connect with wood, the door opened, and the book collided with the face of the boy assigned as his bodyguard. Right in the nose. The book fell to the ground and Lance followed the movement with widened eyes. Fearfully, he glanced back up to the boy. A light stream of blood flowed from his already bruised nose.

Guilt replaced all anger within Lance and his mouth hung uselessly open as he stared into the murderous glare of the kid he had injured. “Uh…” The blanket slipped off his back as he moved closer to the edge of the bed. “I… um… I didn’t mean…” He wasn’t sure what to say. Would saying anything make a difference at all? Could the kid even understand him? The boy picked the book up and stepped toward Lance, ignoring the blood. “I’m sorry.” Lance stared apologetically at the book offered to him.

“Try that again, I dare you.” His words were accented as he tried to pronounce them, and Lance had to take a moment to register what the kid was saying. The book slammed into Lance’s chest, curtesy of the gloved hand belonging to the military brat leaning over him threateningly.

Lance didn’t answer for a moment. He stared down to retrieve the play before meeting the other’s eye again. It was difficult though, with the bruise covering one of his eyes. Every time he saw the marks, he had to hold back a grimace. “I didn’t mean… to hit you…” He admitted, getting more and more embarrassed with each word. Still glaring, the kid stared directly at Lance’s mouth as it moved. At first, Lance found it unsettling, but it suddenly dawned on him that he was reading Lance’s lips. They were both silent for awhile, each waiting for the other to make a move.

Eventually, Lance tilted his head up a bit, making sure his face was clearly visible to the other; to show that he was seriously making an effort and to make it easier for his lips to be read. “I… I didn’t catch… your name…” He cleared his throat, extending a hand for an awkward handshake. “They call me Lance McClain. What about you?”

After a moment of hesitation, a hand met Lance’s and shook it firmly. The hardened eyes that had been glaring into Lance’s very soul softened. “Keith Kogane.” He answered. Lance smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deaf Keith feeds my soul


	4. Double Edged Sword

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's in the tags that there's abuse and stuff, you knew what you were getting into. But, I'm still going to warn you that this chapter has physical (and emotional, I guess?) abuse in it. I think the buildup to it is warning enough, but if you want to get away from it then I'll put a little * thing. Alrighty? Alrighty.

The heat of the sun warmed Keith’s head, his black hair magnifying the intensity. It was hot enough that he didn’t need his jacket but he wore it anyway; protocol. There was a slight breeze though, which helped. Minimally, but it helped.

It had been a few days since he had spoken with Lance for the first time and had really introduced himself properly. When they had first met, Keith hadn’t really had any intention of telling Lance his name since the guy seemed like every other stuck up rich kid he had ever come across in his life. But then the kid went and threw a book at his face and nearly cried about it after. What an idiot.

Keith’s entire being felt heavy and it was hard to breathe. Every muscle in his body seemed to drag as he moved. Luckily, the commander had noticed while they were out patrolling. Sendak handed him a gel capsule from a bottle he kept on his belt and delivered the usual warning he always gave. Keith didn’t bother to watch his lips, rolling the pill in his palm. He knew he wasn’t allowed to take it until Sendak had finished talking, so he waited, despite the light-headedness which was beginning to overtake his mind.

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

“That pill’s expensive. Don’t waste it.” Sendak clipped a pocket on his coat back into place after placing the prescription bottle back into place. Keith brought his palm up to his mouth and swallowed the medicine then stalked off to the tree by the fence, hoping to put some distance between himself and the commander.

“Your mutt’s very well trained, huh?” Some other soldier piped up from where he was seated in the grass, gun resting next to him.

“Usually I give him just enough to keep him from shutting down.” Commander Sendak explained. He turned to watch Keith march off. “It takes him everything he had just to walk. No chance he can use his full strength. If he gets out of line, he doesn’t get his fix.” He laughed. Everyone else followed suit. “And he knows what would happen if he tried to run away.”

“That’s brilliant!” Another soldier added. “Obey us humans like a loyal mutt and you get to live a nice long life.” The man chuckled.

His buddy sitting next to him nudged him with his elbow. “If by long you mean forty human years!” The entire troop laughed again.

Once the snickering had died down, someone else spoke. “Why do have a Galra in our unit anyway?”

“He’s been here since he could hold a sword.”

Commander Sendak stepped up, drawing everyone’s attention to him. “If he gets strong enough then I can make money off reporting him to Kerberos.” He clarified.

Keith sat in the grass, resting his arms along his knees and inspecting his sword. His focus wasn’t on the troop.

“What happened to his mother?” A soldier asked.

Sendak smiled to himself and stared directly at the man who had asked. “I killed her.” He answered simply.

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

The only sound of the room was scribbling on paper across the table and the chirping of birds outside. Lance rested his chin on his arms against the table. He watched as Keith wrote out the alphabet on a lined piece of paper, intensely fixated on each line he etched out. It was almost hard to watch him when he was wearing the same jacket he always wore. Wasn’t the kid hot? The room wasn’t exactly what Lance would consider cold. Whatever. Keith’s eyes narrowed and his pencil paused on the sheet. After a moment, he continued to write.

Before, when Lance and Keith had been in the library, Lance had asked Keith if he was a fan of Shakespeare. It was a complete surprise when Keith had answered that he didn’t know what that was, which affronted Lance at first. After he explained, however, it got even more baffling. The kid couldn’t read or write. His only way of communication was lip reading and his garbled version of spoken English. But that was it.

He wasn’t exactly sure why, but after a few days of his thoughts being invaded by the idea, he decided he would try teaching Keith how to read and write. Books meant the world to Lance, and Keith couldn’t even enjoy them. That wasn’t right.

There were pages and pages of sheets spread out along the table, filled to the brim with wobbly letters and cut off sentences. Keith was a fast learner, quickly picking up on the correlation between the lips movements and the letters he was seeing, but Lance couldn’t tell if his writing was just not practiced enough, or if he was just one of those people with illegible printing. Lance glanced at one of the pages where Keith had practiced lowercase letters. His gaze wandered back to Keith and he leaned his body over the table to see his progress. Keith was practicing writing his name, although it really didn’t look like the name ‘Keith’ at all. Lance gently removed the book from Keith’s possession, ignoring the glare he received, and twirled it around. In the neatest printing he could manage, he wrote out ‘KEITH KOGANE’ in all capitals. Then, he slid it back toward the other boy. Keith stared at the writing for a moment, then attempted to copy it again.

Lance rose from his spot at the table and left the room, leaving Keith to his work. He wandered down the hallway a bit and turned off into his room. It wasn’t that far away from the workroom he had chosen for them to use, and it was for that reason he had chosen it at all. After hunting around his bedsheets for a moment, he came up empty. That was where he had left it, right? Glancing around the room revealed that it was on the dresser. The maid had probably moved it. He stepped across the room and picked it up, checking the title. Shakespeare’s _Macbeth._ Perfect.

Once he had retrieved it, he exited the room, closing the door behind him, and heading back to Keith. Perhaps Keith couldn’t read something like Shakespeare just yet, but he would get there. Lance would help him out. To some extent, Lance felt responsible for Keith. Even though the boy with the sword was the one who was protecting Lance, nothing had happened which would allow Keith to prove if he was capable of fighting anyone after all. Lance was still skeptical and as long as Keith continued to be confused about the life that Lance lead, then Lance would have to be the leader of the duo. It might have been the scion part of him that felt he was superior by nature, but he really filled his role as the leader.

Maybe Lance just enjoyed the sound of his own voice, but he knew Keith couldn’t hear him come in, let alone what he was saying. “How’re you doing? It’s a bit slow going at first but you get the hang of it eventua–” He cut himself off as he noticed that Keith was no longer seated in the chair at the table. Instead, he was on the floor, his legs curled up to his chest and his back up against his chair.

Lance approached him slowly, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion. Lightly as he could, he tapped the book in his hand to Keith’s head. The boy furrowed his eyebrows too and glared up at Lance in response.

Making certain that his mouth was visible, Lance spoke. “You can sit in the chair if you want, alright?”

Keith stared at him for a moment before nodding and carefully rising from the floor. He studied Lance for a moment, seemingly waiting for something, and when he didn’t find anything, he sat himself down into the chair again. Apparently, the heat had finally gotten to him too, because he removed his heavy military jacket and dropped it in a heap at the foot of his chair.

Satisfied, Lance nodded and returned to his own seat on the other side. The pencil was picked up and the writing continued. Lance studied the markings Keith made. At first, he had planned to read his book, but Keith’s odd behaviour had sidetracked him and instead, he found himself watching the boy again. _He acts like an animal. Kind of inhuman._ His eyebrows pinched together and his gaze dropped from Keith’s face to the tags around his neck. _What if he’s a Galra…?_ Without really thinking, Lance leaned across the table and grasped the dog tags, tugging on them so he could read them. It startled Keith, forcing him to the middle of the table as well. The tags were empty of any Galra signs though. _Hmm. Guess not._

Keith glared at him again, growling low in the back of his throat and reaching up to yank his tags out of Lance’s hand and pointedly seating himself back in his chair. With one last look, Keith readjusted the chain around his neck and picked the pencil up again.

It was then that Lance noticed it; a giant purple and blue bruise over Keith’s entire forearm, vaguely in the shape of a boot print. Sickly spots of yellow and brown lined other areas of the same arm. Lance’s eyes widened. He hadn’t been expecting to see that but once he had, it was difficult to pretend he hadn’t. Marks like those were very familiar to Lance and his heartrate picked up.

Lance tapped his hand near Keith’s paper, within his line of sight. Keith paused his writing, staring up at Lance. “Is your arm okay? Those marks look like they hurt; what happened?” He tried his hardest to keep his voice even and neutral, although it really didn’t matter since Keith wouldn’t hear a difference.

Keith didn’t answer for a moment but he didn’t look at his arm either. He knew what Lance was referring to. “I fell down.” Responded Keith after a moment.

Lance met Keith’s gaze, fully understanding the meaning behind Keith’s words. “Oh… Yeah… I… I fall down sometimes too.” He muttered. Keith’s eyes softened for a moment and he opened his mouth to say something else, but immediately shut himself up, whipping his head toward the window. Lance could hear a shifting in the trees as a group of birds fluttered away into the sky. He snorted, smiling to himself. _Keith really is like a dog, isn’t he?_

Shouting could be heard outside the room in the hallway and Lance turned toward the door. _Father?_ He wondered, getting up from his seat to advance toward the noise. He pressed his ear to the wood.

“It appears there’s rioting in the area. There are reports of looting as well.” Lance could recognize the voice as belonging to one of the maids. She sounded frantic and panicked. The rioting didn’t usually get close enough to the McClain estate for it to be cause for concern, so that must be serious.

He heard his father’s voice answer. “It must be those anti-Galra activists…” There was a pause, probably for him to think. “Take Allura and my wife to the safe room.” Directed Mr. McClain.

Another maid spoke. “Yes, sir. And what of Master Lance?”

“Leave him.” There was no hesitation in his voice.

Lance clenched his eyes closed, holding back the emotions welling up in his throat. In his mind, he knew that his father didn’t care about his wellbeing in the least, but to hear his father blatantly disregard him entirely, in favour of the other child and the other woman, it still hit Lance hard.

Suddenly, he was jerked back into the reality of the moment when he heard the sound of the window being unlatched and creaked open. His eyes widened and he spun around. Keith was stood on the windowsill, his back to Lance and his unsheathed sword clutched tightly in his fist. The fabric of his shirt and his hair blew in the wind as he stared down at the ground. Fear spiked in Lance’s veins and he called out in a knee-jerk response. “Keith!”

That did nothing, obviously, and the next second, Keith was dropping from the window to the ground below. Lance let out a high-pitched screech and raced toward the window, flinging his arm outwards as if he could catch Keith. His heart was racing and panic filled his senses, fueling his moves. “Keith! We’re on the third floor!” Lance yelled. He braced his arms against the sill, searching the ground. A corpse lay at the bottom of the building, near a tree. Arms and legs splayed out, blood pouring from injuries.

Only, it wasn’t Keith. It was a man which he couldn’t identify, face down in the dirt. Keith loomed over the body. He was covered in blood and the sword in his hand was slicked with it as well. Lance’s heartrate didn’t slow, but the feeling of fear for Keith had transformed into fear of Keith. He had just killed that man after jumping from the third storey.

Gear-clad soldiers began rushing to the scene, guns ready in their arms and they crowded around the dead man. It was at that moment which Lance noticed a series of letters and numbers across the base of Keith’s neck where his baggy shirt didn’t cover. Lance, thoroughly confused, watched as one of the guards grabbed Keith’s arm and roughly began yanking him toward the house. Whatever had just happened, Lance needed to know. As fast as his legs would take him, he sprinted to the first floor, nearly tripping in his attempt to skip steps on the stairs and almost smacking into one of the maids who was just exiting a room.

Lance’s adrenalin was pumping. What the hell was going on? What had just happened? As he’s about to dart right past a room, he suddenly hears his father yelling. Backtracking, Lance finds the source. His chest heaves from the sudden athletics but he tries to silence his panting. If he was noticed, that would mean only bad things. Quietly, Lance skirted around the frame of the door and peered in. Mr. McClain was standing tall and overly proud – as usual – with his back to Lance, screaming at the other two members of the room. It was difficult to see around him, but Lance could make out Keith, covered in blood, holding his bloody sword and staring at the ground. No, he wasn’t staring at the ground. Sendak had his giant mitt clenched around the back of Keith’s neck, forcing his face downward.

“Not only did you allow an intruder onto the McClain estate, but now I need to have the lawn fixed! All thanks to this little ‘mishap’ as you called it? What am I paying you for?” His father shouted.

Sendak bowed his head too, matching Keith. “Our sincerest apologies. We’ll be much more diligent from now on.” Something in his words took on a sinister tone and Lance shifted his gaze toward Keith again, just in time to see him flinch as Sendak’s vice grip tightened.

Anger made its home in Lance’s gut and he wanted nothing more than to stomp in there and kick the commander right where the sun don’t shine. It wasn’t as if Lance wasn’t aware it was happening. To witness it in action was just much different. To see someone who he was beginning to actually like – the only person on the entire property that he actually liked – being treated in such a way just twisted Lance; pulling at him, tugging at him, clawing at him. Every part of him wanted to help Keith. But he knew he couldn’t. And if he could, now would not be the time.

Maybe Lance was about to do something extremely stupid, but whatever it would have been was cut off when Mr. McClain released the two soldiers and they began to exit the room. Lance quickly pressed himself up against the wall, partially behind the door, hoping to be disregarded. Thankfully, Commander Sendak and Keith turned down the other hallway, not turning back once.

***** Lance was about to sigh in relief, when he glanced into the room again. His father had a bottle of alcohol in his hand, tilting it back with his head, chugging the contents down. The bottle was halfway empty to begin with, and Lance knew what that meant. Lance was about to disappear from the area as fast as he could, but as he was moving backwards, he bumped into the door. It slowly swung backwards, hitting the wall. Mr. McClain whipped his head around to burn holes into Lance’s skull. In half a second, the man was across the room, dragging Lance into the room by his shoulder, his nails stabbing into Lance’s skin even through his jacket. Lance didn’t bother to struggle; he knew it would be worse if he did. Dread still pumped through his veins anyway.

The door was shut behind him and Lance flinched as it clicked shut. He was sweating profusely and his eyes were widened in fear. Every part of him felt twitchy and his eyes shifted rapidly around the room, looking for any way out. There was none. There never was. He heard the sound of the door locking in place and his heartrate picked up even more. His father sauntered threateningly toward him, setting the alcohol on the table as he passed it.

Before Lance could even prepare himself, Mr. McClain geared his arm up and spun around, connecting his fist with Lance’s cheek. Lance dropped like a rock, hitting the carpet hard. Lance choked out a startled yelp, staring up at his father just as a foot slammed directly into his stomach. A cough forced out of him, tears prickling his eyes. He attempted to scrape himself backwards, away from that man. His back hit the wall.

“What’re you planning?!” He roared at Lance. His shoe was stomped down onto Lance’s hip. Immense pain shot through his leg. Lance bit his lip, holding in his scream. “Did you think I’d take pity on you?!” Another sharp kick. Lance could feel the bruises forming.

“No…” He weakly answered. The tears were streaming down his cheeks, staining his face. He felt nauseous.

“You’re trying to win that boy over so you can sick him on me, huh?!” Mr. McClain kicked him in the knee and Lance couldn’t muffle the scream it produced. “This ‘intrusion’ was just to see the reaction time! Isn’t that right?!” He stomped his foot down on Lance’s arm which was splayed out on the ground, halfway stuck underneath him. Lance squeaked painfully.

“No! Father!” His voice was hoarse and strained. Mr. McClain stepped away from Lance to grab the alcohol bottle off the table again. “I swear I’m not!” He heaved through his tears. Saliva was slicked along his chin from his desperate wailing. Everything in his vision was wavering from the tears pooling in his eyes. His arm raised above his head to protect himself as he saw the watery figure of that man return. “Fath–” He was cut off. The smash of glass rang through the room. Glass rained down over Lance’s body and he instinctively cradled his head with his arm. The wall was stained brown from where the bottle had collided with it and it ran down the drywall. Lance was drenched.

“I can’t even look at you. You look so much like your whore of a mother.” Mr. McClain’s tone was cold and piercing. He loomed over Lance. “You’re disgusting.” The man hissed. He kicked a larger piece of glass toward Lance then turned and calmly unlocked the room, exiting into the hallway.

Lance listened to his footsteps as they grew quieter. Once he could no longer hear them, he struggled into a seated position. Every muscle in his body protested the action. Sharp pain shot through him from the areas of his bruises and injuries. He curled in on himself, leaning against the wall. Nausea rolled through his stomach again and he closed his eyes, waiting for it to pass. Tears still tumbled over his cheeks, mixing with the liquor sticking to his skin. He smelled of alcohol but he couldn’t tell, snuffling from the crying.

Lance didn’t move for awhile.


	5. Hell to Pay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy, I guess

It had been around a week since the incident on the lawn. Keith was still bitter about it though. Everyone had treated him as though he had made a mistake. But he hadn’t. Lance was safe and the intruder was eradicated. What was the problem? Well, he knew what the problem was. Mr. McClain looked down on the entire troop and the entire troop looked down on Keith. He was the bottom rung so if there was blame, it was assigned to him. Even when there was no blame, Commander Sendak would find some. He always did.

Lance was safe at least.

He had grown fonder of the boy he was meant to protect. At first, they really hadn’t gotten along at all, both resenting the other, but it turned out that they actually clicked quite well when they made the effort. They had formed a kind of friendship. It was a very new situation for Keith; he had never had any friends before. He enjoyed Lance’s company.

His reading and writing abilities had improved quite a bit in the past week. He couldn’t have read a book or written more than a few choppy sentences, but that would come with time. No one had ever tried to teach Keith about the written word before and in the beginning, Keith had thought that Lance was looking for something in return, holding the lessons over Keith’s head as a bargaining chip. But that wasn’t the case. Lance just wanted to share his love of books. That struck a chord in Keith that he wasn’t even aware he had. Lance was a good guy.

Keith was seated against his usual tree while the rest of his troop was at the fence a few feet away. They were probably talking about something stupid like they always did. He had stopped paying attention to their conversations years ago.

There was a stick loosely clutched in Keith’s fist as he doodled in the dirt. He had his knees pulled up to his chest so he could peer over his knees at what he was making. A bowl of some sort of oatmeal sat next to him, in between Keith and his sword. It was untouched. Keith was too busy with the lines he was etching to be hungry. His coat restricted much movement of his arm but he just ignored it, flicking his arm out to release more fabric from where it was caught between his thigh and his chest. The weather was a bit colder than usual, but not enough to be consider actually cold. Keith wasn’t sweating in his clothes, at the very least. It made it more bearable.

From his spot in the grass, Keith glanced up through his bangs to the third floor of the building. He located the window where the library was, watching it. There was no reason for Lance to be at the sill, but Keith would have liked to see him. Perhaps Keith was just bored.

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

Flipping the page, Lance continued to skim the story. His book rested on his lap as he leaned against the bookshelf behind him. The book was one he had read many times, enjoying more each time. _The Phoenix and the Carpet,_ a true classic. And yet, Lance couldn’t focus on the words he was reading. They rolled right through his brain without being processed.

Finally, Lance gave up pretending that he was actually reading and just closed the book. It was one of those days where Lance could think of a dozen things he wanted to do but nothing he _wanted_ to do. Maybe it was the atmosphere of the library; it always made Lance feel like time wasn’t moving. He brought his leg up to rest his cheek against his knee, hugging the shin. There was no sound except for his own calm breathing. His eyelids drooped as he resisted the urge to yawn. _Why am I so tired?_

His eyes wandered the shelf ahead of him for a moment. Eyebrows narrowed. He didn’t recognize any of the books. _Have I not read this shelf?_ Lance untangled his legs and crawled forward, reaching for a random book and sliding it from its slot. Turning it over, he inspected the title. Eyes widened. “Sign language.” He mumbled to himself. An idea struck him and he was surprised he hadn’t thought of it sooner.

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

A sudden feeling of weakness overcame Keith. He dropped the stick immediately and reached for his bowl of gruel. The spoon shook in his grasp as he attempted to raise it to his lips. Everything started to spin and he could barely see, let alone guide the spoon to his mouth. In his confusion, he dropped the entire thing, letting it clatter into the grass.

Keith stared at his hands, squinting and forcing everything into focus, but he couldn’t. His vision was swimming and his limbs were weighing him down. Every muscle in his body felt lead. Keith dug his feet into the ground, pushing his body as hard as he could to stand, to crawl, to _move._ If he could just grab the attention of his troops, that would be enough. He opened his mouth, but he couldn’t make any noise. His throat was constricted and it was even difficult to breathe. Keith’s chest heaved and he folded over into the dirt. Sweat was rolling down his face in droves, dripping into his eyes.

He forced his head to rise, reaching a hand out toward the laughing soldiers by the fence, a desperate plea. Blackness filled his vision and his arm dropped to the ground in a heap, followed closely by the rest of his body. All consciousness left him.

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

“This is bullshit. Why do we gotta eat outside when we’re the ones protecting the whole damn estate?” A soldier complained

“They think they’re so high and mighty with all their fancy food and clothes!” One responded.

A scoff. “Hey, at least they’re feeding us at all, right? By the way,” He turned to the man diagonal to him, cross-legged on the ground. “did you really pork the maid?”

“Which one?” A different man chuckled. “The redhead?”

“Yeah.”

“I can’t believe you banged her!” A soldier hollered. Everyone was hooting and laughing,

“She’s one of the ugliest bitches here!” Someone else answered. It aroused another round of laughter.

They all continued to eat the mush they had been provided, chatting and complaining about the lack of real food. One of the soldiers suddenly interrupted another’s comment, pointing his spoon to Keith, collapsed by the tree, face down in the grass. “Hey, what’s the kid doing?”

Commander Sendak turned to follow his gaze. Then he was flinging himself up, forgetting his food entirely. “Get the injector from the kit! Hurry!” He shouted. The other soldiers stared, confused for a beat before they all burst into action, rushing for the bag they carried around with them. Sendak and a couple other men were pulling Keith onto his back, shaking him and removing his jacket. “Go!”

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

Lance stared down at the book in his hands. He had skimmed through it but found himself pausing on a specific page. The sign for ‘kill’. His thoughts wandered back to the image of Keith, bloody and still, looming over the corpse of a fully-grown man. It stuck with Lance. How had Keith done that? At least he knew Keith was a good bodyguard. He was wrong to doubt him in the first place.

Before he could let himself think of the body anymore, he was distracted by the frantic yelling coming from the window at his left. Still holding the book, he approached the window, pulling the cord for the blinds so he could see what was going on.

“Don’t let him die or there’ll be hell to pay!” Commander Sendak shouted at another man, who was stabbing an injector into Keith’s exposed shoulder. Keith’s lifeless body tumbled around like a ragdoll as they struggled to revive him. Lance’s eyes widened, suddenly full of worry. Sendak slapped Keith across the face, hard. A red mark was left behind. “Wake up!” He screamed.

Lance spun around, booking it out of the room and down the nearest staircase. He bumped right into a maid turning the corner. Normally he would have apologized and helped her pick everything up, no matter how much he disliked the maids, but Keith was dying. Lance leaped up and continued sprinting, his lungs burned and his legs protested, but his concern for Keith far outweighed his physical needs. It was difficult to run in a suit but he didn’t slow.

The door to the lawn where he had witnessed the troops came into view and he slammed right into it, forcing it open with shaky hands. Once outside, he was just in time to see Sendak smack Keith on the head and Keith suddenly pitch forward, his eyes wide open as he gasped urgently for air. Everyone around sighed in relief while Keith hacked his lungs into the grass.

“Now get him out of here and cleaned up before anyone notices.” Sendak instructed, releasing his clamped hold on Keith’s upper arm. “Get him on his feet!” Two men stepped forward, gripping Keith’s elbows to shove him to his feet. He had started panting, which was much better than the guttural barking he had been doing a moment earlier.

Lance tried to calmly walk over to the group of soldiers, specifically to the two dragging Keith away, but he probably moved a bit faster than he had intended. He could hear his heart beating in his ears.

“Master Lance, good afternoon.” Sendak greeted him with fake cheeriness, subtly stepping in front of Keith to block Lance’s view. “How can we be of service?”

Lance shifted his gaze from where he was attempting to see Keith around the man to stare directly into the Commander’s eyes. “I’m here for him.” He said, calmly as he could. No one needed Lance to specify who ‘him’ was. “But you look a little busy. What’s going on?” He challenged.

Sendak smiled; a hoax. “Nothing. In fact, we were just finished here. He’s all yours.” He approached Keith. “Come on! You can use your own feet!” The commander snapped. He grabbed Keith’s arm from the grasp of the other two soldiers and practically threw him at Lance.

Keith’s face was slicked with sweat and his breathing was still uneven. He stumbled on his feet, turning to look at Sendak over his shoulder, weary, then focused back on Lance, bowing his head. Sendak stopped watching then and returned to the rest of the troop as they wandered back to where they had been eating.

“You don’t think he saw that, huh?” Lance heard a soldier mutter.

“Nah.” Someone else answered.

Sendak murmured, more to himself than anyone else. “The grace period keeps going down…”

Lance began to lead Keith back to the house. Keith was carrying his sword and jacket in his arms, staring down as he walked. Lance glanced back at him, still worried about the boy.

“Commander?” Lance caught a glimpse of Sendak squinting at the dirt where Keith had been drawing. It was the first five letters of the alphabet. Sendak scowled and shifted his face upwards to make direct eye contact with Lance. A shiver ran up his spine and he instinctively reached for Keith’s wrist, pulling him a little bit faster toward the house.


	6. Bonding Moments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite this being called Bonding Moments, there is no cradling in anyone's arms. Truly unfortunate

The sunlight flooded the room from the windows. It wasn’t too hot, though. Keith had left his jacket on the ground again, something that Lance had begun to notice he would never do around anyone except Lance. They were sat in the same room they always went to when Lance helped Keith with his writing. He had a lit cigarette in his hand, carefully avoiding burning himself as he rested his chin on his arms again. Keith was across from him, diligently writing out the letters again. He wasn’t focused on Lance.

“Keith.” It was the first time Lance had ever actually uttered the boy’s name out loud. He had thought it and written it many times but never spoken it. It tasted familiar, though. “They aren’t very good to you…” He pointed out. His eyes scanned the cuts lining Keith’s face, dried blood crusted over a few of them. “Why haven’t you run away?” Lance whispered. “How come you just stick around…?” He knew that Keith couldn’t tell he was talking at all since his mouth was covered by his arm, but that was why he had voiced the question at all. His forehead dropped onto his forearm.

The sliding of paper across the table alerted him and he glanced up. Keith was staring at him with confusion in his eyes, the sheet he had been writing on was facing Lance. He sat up, placing the cigarette in his mouth and peeling the paper off the table to inspect it. Various words were scrawled across the page, some in all lowercase, some in all uppercase. A couple words were scribbled out where he had written a letter backwards. But what caught Lance’s attention was at the bottom where he had scribbled ‘Keith Kogane and Lance McClain’ in a very butchered version of English letters. It looked like it was written by a first grader and Lance couldn’t help but snort, even at the warmth spreading through his chest.

“This is really bad!” He laughed.

Keith glared back at him, affronted, pink tinting his cheeks as he reached over and ripped the book out of Lance’s hand.

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

Keith stared at the book on the floor in between him and Lance. His hands awkwardly mimicked the picture shown on the page and Lance copied along. They weren’t really sure what they were doing at first, but as they redid the sign over and over again, it started to imprint as muscle memory. It had been slow-going at first, both unused to bending their hands in such specific manners, but eventually Keith had started using different tricks to remember which signs meant what.

When Lance had presented the book, Keith had been a little bit skeptical, but Lance was so excited about the idea of Keith being able to communicate easier that Keith gave in. _It would be nice to not have to rely on lip reading._ It was a tedious task, watching people’s mouths and determining what they were saying. He was used to it, but sometimes it gave him a headache, while other times the person would just speak too fast for him to distinguish one word from another. Signing was a good idea, Keith would admit.

And if he felt all warm and fuzzy inside at the amount of effort Lance was putting into talking to him, then what was it hurting?

Lance squinted at one of the signs, unsure of what the direction was, so Keith reached over and grabbed his hands, folding his fingers and guiding them through the motions. “Friend.” Keith said out loud as he hooked Lance’s fingers together and shifted them around to hook them the other way.

Lance did it on his own once, staring down at his hands and smiling, then choppily signed “ _You’re my friend_.” Keith couldn’t help the upward quirk in his mouth as he nodded in affirmation that he understood what Lance was saying.

“ _Lance…”_ Keith paused, attempting to recall the sign for ‘M’. _“McClain”_ He quickly finished, rushing a bit through the rest.

The smile on Lance’s face grew wider at every sign Keith made, presumably because he could understand also, but Keith wasn’t sure. _“Keitg Kohane.”_ Lance signed back.

Keith blew air through his nose in a sort-of-laugh and signed out his name, punctuating the difference between ‘G’ and ‘H’.

“Dammit.” Lance voiced, his eyebrows dropping. He tried again. _“Keith Kogane.”_ Satisfied with his work, he gave a smug smile. _“Colour?”_ Lance raised his eyebrows at the end of it to indicate he meant it as a question.

Narrowing his eyebrows, Keith stared in confusion for a moment. Was he asking what colour Keith favoured? _“Red.”_ Keith hesitantly signed in response, unsure if that was what Lance meant as well as if that was the correct sign.

_“Blue.”_ Lance signed back.

Keith wasn’t sure what to do with the information, but he remembered it nonetheless.

They spent another few hours sitting in the library signing their conversation, checking the book or consulting the other when they didn’t know a specific word. Keith hadn’t smiled much in his life, but with Lance, it was easy.

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

Smoking didn’t bother Keith, it never had. He had grown up around smokers all his life. Lance’s smoking was merely background noise to him – especially after knowing him for a month – so leaning against the fence, sword in hand and jacket bulkily tied around his waist, Lance at his side with a cigarette in his mouth, was really just a regular afternoon for the two of them.

Keith enjoyed Lance’s company, even when they weren’t talking. Just bathing in the noonday sun, breathing in the musky smell of smoke and feeling the presence of the taller boy at his side, that was enough. The birds floated through the clear sky as wind rustled the trees around them. He wanted to close his eyes, but he knew he couldn’t. Whether Keith had a job to do or not, he would have spent time with Lance, but he did have a job to do. A job which included being aware of his surroundings in order to protect Lance.

Lance nudged Keith’s arm, drawing his attention away from the sky. He was holding the lit cigarette out towards Keith, an offer. Now, although Keith had lived amongst smokers his entire life, he himself had never smoked. Keith glanced up to Lance’s face and saw him smiling encouragingly at him. The open, friendly expression Lance displayed was enough to convince Keith and he grabbed the cigarette from Lance’s hand. He had no qualms about smoking, he had just never tried it.

He put the unlit end in his mouth and sucked in. Immediately after, he began hacking, choking on the smoke that had poured into his lungs. Keith nearly dropped the cigarette. Lance suddenly started laughing, it was practically a cackle, and Keith noticed the shaking of the other boy’s shoulders. He turned to glare at Lance but Lance couldn’t see it through his laughter.

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

Lance led Keith out to a tall tree in the backyard. Not the usual tree that they went to, one farther away from the house. That’s where the tallest tree on the entire property was. Keith wasn’t exactly sure what the point of it was, but Lance wanted to climb the tree together. Well, he had said he wanted to teach Keith to climb the tree, as if Keith couldn’t climb. Did Lance forget that Keith was a military brat?

They reached the tree and Lance stopped at the base of it, staring up with his arms akimbo. It was adorable how smug he was, especially considering Keith was fully ready to crush that smugness. He stepped forward, grabbing a low hanging branch and heaving himself up, scrabbling his feet along the bark of the trunk to get onto the branch. Once he was seated, he stared down to Keith, bright blue eyes shining with excitement.

“Try to keep up, Keith!” He teased, then stood on the branch and latched onto the next one above him. Keith watched for a second to make sure Lance wasn’t going to fall before moving to the other side and dropping his jacket into the grass, placing his sword on top of it. He really wasn’t supposed to leave his sword behind, especially while he was on duty, but they would be in a tree. It was fine.

Although he was a bit shorter than Lance and needed to jump a little to reach the first branch, he was more agile and more maneuverable than Lance. He had also trained. Quickly, he overtook Lance, making it to the top a full forty seconds before Lance. He lounged on the top branch and swung his legs, waiting for Lance with the same smugness that Lance had had originally. A few stray sticks had scratched his exposed arms on the way up but he hadn’t paid it much mind.

“You cheated.” Lance huffed as he reached the top, sitting next to Keith on an adjacent limb.

_“How?”_ Keith signed.

_“I don’t know!”_ Lance flung his hand away from his head dramatically. “You probably had more branches on your side!”

Keith gave Lance an incredulous look. _“You’re just slow.”_ He stroked his right hand over the back of his left in the most joshing manner one could sign.

Lance stuck his tongue out at him and reached his arm over to shove at Keith. He wobbled a bit, rapidly switching from attempting to push Keith off, to grappling onto Keith’s tank top. Snickering at the startled expression on Lance’s face, Keith helped steady him on the bough, holding his arm in place. “Idiot.” Keith ribbed, still holding onto Lance’s forearm.

Bringing the hand that wasn’t clenched around Keith’s shirt up to his temple, Lance made a thumbs-up and tapped it against his head twice, sticking his tongue out at Keith. _“Jerk.”_

They stayed in the tree for a lot longer than they had first intended to, conversing about whatever they could think of, switching between signing and speaking to each other. It never felt awkward or stunted, flowing easily and swiftly. There were many different areas of the branches that they could have used to balance themselves, but they unconsciously chose to use each other’s wrist, and neither of them minded.

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

There was a tap on Keith’s shoulder to get his attention. He turned his head to Lance, leaned up against the fence next to him. “Keith, don’t you get tired carrying your sword around all the time?” Lance pointed to the sheathed sword resting on Keith’s thigh, his hand tracing the top.

_“I don’t notice it.”_ He signed.

“Can I try it?” Lance asked.

Keith furrowed his eyebrows, inspecting Lance’s expression for a moment. Lance’s eyes were bright and hopeful. It was difficult to say no to that, Keith found after spending so much time with Lance. Reluctantly, Keith handed the sword to Lance. His entire face lit up and his hands twitched as Keith slowly removed the sword from its casing. Carefully, he handed the weapon over to Lance by the handle. _“Don’t hurt yourself.”_ Keith signed after the sword was released from his possession.

Nodding, Lance wrapped both his hands around the handle, stepping away from the fence to whip it through the air. He spread his legs and awkwardly bent his legs at the knees, holding his arms out and pointing the sword at an invisible opponent. His eyebrows were dropped low and his expression was dangerous. Keith watched in amusement as Lance kicked his leg out and swung the sword around. It was obvious that Lance had never handled a sword before because it kept toppling over into the ground every time he shifted it from one hand to the other.

Keith smiled as Lance mimed a sword fight with the air, twisting his wrist painfully to the side and making dramatic hand movements with flourish. He slowly got more and more confident with it and Keith began to wonder if Lance had forgotten that the sword was actually a real sword. As he was beginning to actually worry, Lance’s hand slipped and the sword swung toward him, narrowly missing lodging itself into the boy’s leg. Keith shot forward, ripping the sword out of Lance’s hand and stepping back to inspect Lance’s leg. There were no marks or injuries.

“What did I say?!” Keith barked at him, throwing his arms out to the side.

“Cool your jets, Keith! I just grazed it!” Lance dismissed.

Keith stalked back over to the fence and picked his sheath up from the ground. The sword was placed back in its cover and Keith turned back to Lance, still bothered that Lance had nearly lobbed off an entire limb. _“Never again.”_ He signed.

“Wha– Keith! C’mon!” Lance whined.

_“You don’t know what you’re doing.”_ Keith accused, scowling.

Lance pouted.

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

It had been around a month and a half since Keith had first started learning sign language with Lance and although they were at the point where they could have coherent conversations with each other, they still needed practice. So, every day, the pair would spend at least an hour just learning and relearning signs. They only had the one book with them, which left a lot of holes in their vocabulary, but it didn’t inhibit them in any way. It was a game they had made. They would pick a topic and go back and forth signing something from the topic until neither could think of another one. If either of them messed a sign up or signed something different, it was the job of the other to call them out.

Lance sat cross-legged across from Keith in the library, practicing the signs for colours again. They always seemed to come back to colours. The book was in between them, closed. _“Green.”_

_“Yellow.”_ Keith countered.

_“Red.”_ Lance gave a raise of the eyebrow as he signed. Red was Keith’s colour.

Keith copied the expression, playing along. _“Blue.”_

_“Black.”_ He swiped a finger across his forehead.

_“Purple.”_ Keith shook his hand in the ‘P’ sign.

Lance copied the ‘P’ but instead, he flicked it across his nose.

There was a pause as Keith stared at Lance, unsure if he had seen that correctly. A startled laugh forced out of Keith, loud and sudden. Lance’s eyes widened, most likely confused, but his cheeks quickly heated up and he stared openly at Keith. It was the first time that Keith had actually laughed that hard but he quickly calmed himself when he saw the expression on Lance’s face. He subtly covered his mouth with his gloved hand while his laugh tapered off into a giggle.

Bringing his hand away from his mouth to form the ‘P’ sign again and flicking his chin twice, he smiled at Lance. _“Pink.”_

A look of realization crossed Lance’s face followed by horror. “I signed penis.” He whispered before burying his face in his hands, mortified.

Keith snickered again.

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

Usually, Lance would go outside to smoke, up against the fence next to the tree. He didn’t have any problems with smoking indoors, neither did Keith, and anyone else who would have minded could easily go to another room. But Lance’s father hated smoking. Not just smoking indoors, but smoking in general. When Lance got caught smoking, there was always hell to pay, especially with the decline in Mr. McClain’s tolerance. There wasn’t much to begin with, but at least he would avoid Lance’s face before. Not anymore though.

No, the reason that Lance didn’t smoke inside much was because the likelihood of his father finding out about it was drastically increased. He could always smoke in the library where his father would never find him, but he didn’t like to have the cigarettes so close to his books. Sometimes, when his father went away on business, Lance would smoke inside.

Lance held his lit cigarette between his fingers, shaping his mouth as he puffed out a cloud of smoke in a ring. It was a morphed, broken ring, but still. It floated through the air before dissolving into the air. He tried again with the leftover smoke in his mouth, the next ring was slightly better.

Next to him, Keith stuck his hand out and ran it through the circle of smoke, swirling it around, ruining the design. Lance chuckled to himself. It was cat-like, the way Keith couldn’t resist swiping at them. He took another drag, collecting the smoke. Keith waited, watching Lance. Another ring was released into the area around them. Keith gingerly raised his arm, maneuvering it through the opening in the smoke, but it wasn’t large enough to fit his entire hand and broke upon contact with Keith’s skin. He frowned, frustrated.

Lance resisted the urge to laugh, or else he would choke on the smoke he swished around in his mouth. In quick succession, Lance puffed out another two rings. Keith’s eyes lit up at the extra ring and he lowered his eyebrows in determination. Once more, Keith lifted his hand and swam it through the space left unoccupied in the middle of the smoke ring. The other ring floated up and away before Keith could attempt to fit his wrist through it and it distracted him, causing the first ring to break around his fingers. It was endearing and Lance smiled softly at the action.

Keith leaned forward, readjusting his body to better reach the smoke circles, coming away from the wall a little bit. They had been leaned against the wall underneath the window in the workroom they used for writing practice. It was getting later – the sun was already dropping over the horizon – and Keith would need to return to his troop eventually, but for the past hour and a half he had been sitting in the dark with Lance, illuminated only by small nightlight Lance had found in the library. The light shone a beautiful purple, tinting their skin and causing the smoke rings to glow a soft lilac.

Blowing out an additional smoke hoop, Lance watched the resolved form on Keith’s face. His hand, steady as ever, shot out, curving itself through. This time, it worked. Keith’s eyebrows shot up, almost in surprise that he had successfully gotten his hand through the smoke circle. A hint of a smile played at his lips and he glanced to Lance with an expression of pride in himself. Lance inspected Keith’s gaseous bracelet with a grin, shifting his head around to make sure it was entirely connected. It was, until it dissipated into the air as all the others had before it.

Keith didn’t mind. He had done what he had set out to do and that was more than enough.

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

The night sky had always been Keith’s favourite. It was so open, free, and everything that Keith could never be, could only ever dream of being. The darkness was a comfort to him, it always had been. But the shining dots of light above him had become a beacon of hope and promise over the course of his time in his military unit. All he had ever wanted was to be able to explore the stars. That had always been his desire. He had confided as much in Lance during one of their many conversations about the future.

But unfortunately, Keith rarely got the chance to see the night sky. Commander Sendak would never allow Keith to stay out for very long or he would pay the reparations in the form of bruises or less medicine. Sendak was always suspicious of Keith, no matter what he did or where he went. It had really angered the man how much time Keith spent with Lance, even though Lance was still technically his assignment. Any second spent with Lance once his shift was over was immediate cause for punishment in Sendak’s twisted brain.

So, Keith had yet to have some time to stare at the sky and connect the stars in patterns like he enjoyed.

Until one night.

Lance had asked him if he would be able to come to the roof with him to see the stars. Of course, Keith knew he really couldn’t, but he followed the other boy to the rooftop. They had to go through the attic and slide one of the windows out of place to even reach the top of the estate. Once they had removed the pane, resting it gently alongside the wall. If Lance fell, he would die, but Keith had already leaped from the third floor unscathed so he went first, making sure it was safe for Lance to step out after.

A couple of the shingles seemed loose at first glance but once Keith shoved at them with the heel of his boot, he found they were fairly solid, to his surprise. The cool night air ruffled his hair as he lodged his feet into the roof and stared back at Lance through the window. There was a cautious look on Lance’s face and his hands were curled around Keith’s wrists on the window sill; a precaution in the event Keith slipped.

Keith nodded, signalling that it was safe for Lance to come out. The grip around his arms was slackened and Keith sidled along the edge until there was room for Lance to slip through the window. His legs shifted over the threshold and Keith watched closely, making sure his feet didn’t miss the landing.

Once they were both out in the open, Keith clambered upwards to the protrusion of roof above the window. It made it a lot easier for him to climb when he didn’t have his sword with him – he had chosen to leave it on the attic floor next to the window – but his jacket sleeves kept slipping over his palms, as they always did. It protected him from the chill breeze, at the very least. Hoisting himself up and over the edge of the extension, turning to check on Lance once he was up.

Unsure of what he was doing, Lance slowly climbed up after Keith, searching for good places to get a foothold. Lance was treating it as if it were a rock climbing wall. When he eventually got close enough, Keith stretched a hand down, grabbing Lance’s attention. They latched onto each other and Keith heaved Lance up onto the platform next to him.

Neither of them said anything, they just laughed breathily at the ridiculousness of what they were doing and settled in, staring into the sky. It had taken them a lot longer to find a way to the roof than either of them had thought it would and it was already dark. The stars were just becoming visible, shimmering overhead, like pinpricks in black paper. It was everything that Keith had loved about star watching, filling him with a carefree sense calm, as if to reassure him. His face softened and his heart lurched at the longing for something more in his life. For freedom from Sendak. For Lance’s freedom from his father. For freedom to be whatever they both desired. The stars beamed down at him and the darkness caressed his cheek, promising and encouraging.

Keith openly smiled and turned to Lance, who was also watching the sky. The smile never left Keith’s face as he inspected the boy’s face. Something twinkled in his blue eyes, reminding Keith of the stars they were witnessing. It was a little difficult to see much of Lance’s face in the darkness but he could recognize the outline. After a moment Lance met his gaze, exhilaration evident even through the night. He said something but Keith couldn’t tell what it was; it was too dark for him to read Lance’s lips. Furrowing his eyebrows, he spoke in what he hoped was a whisper. “What?”

Lance said it again, and again Keith wasn’t able to tell what he was trying to say. He shook his head, eyebrows still pinched. Shifting his body more towards Keith, he began to sign but paused, seemingly at a loss for the sign he was looking for. Keith raised an eyebrow. As Lance struggled to remember the hand movement, Keith reached over and clasped his hand around Lance’s wrist, moving it so his palm was faced upwards, flat. He traced his finger along Lance’s skin in the shape of an ‘S’. Lance twitched at the tickling sensation. Keith pressed his palm to Lance’s and began the next letter. ‘P’. Pat. ‘E’. Pat. ‘L’. Pat. ‘L’.

Keith had been getting the hang of reading and writing, he was almost a little bit overconfident in his abilities. Holding his palm toward the sky in between the two of them, Keith waited for Lance to begin spelling out what he wanted to say. ‘S T A R S’. He began. Then stopped. Keith wondered if that was it but he started up again, beginning a new word. ‘B E A U T I F U L’.

_The stars are beautiful._ Keith smiled again and turned to look up at the stars. He grunted in an affirmative response and let his hand drop to the roof in between the two boys. Lance copied.

It was far past the time when Keith was supposed to return to the troop. He would be in deep shit when he finally did return, he knew that. But, to experience the night sky, especially with Lance, would be worth whatever Sendak threw at him.

Lance’s pinky finger wrapped around Keith’s own pinky and squeezed. Keith curled his finger back without looking down. He just stared into the sky. Better days would come, so the stars told him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it just me, or does this feel like a calm before the storm chapter...?


	7. Nothing More, Nothing Less

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lotta shit happens

**‘KILL GALRANS’**

Screaming and yelling. Pounding footsteps against the pavement. It was loud, deafening. People pressed against the police barricade, attempting to force their way through into Kerberos. Officers blocked the stragglers, attempting to shout over the citizens who were attempting to shout over them.

Signs were raised into the air, being displayed with the same ferocity being demonstrated in the hollering of the ones holding the signs.

‘ **KILL GALRANS’**

**‘ELIMINATE THE GALRA’**

**‘DESTROY KERBEROS’**

People shoved into each other, pushing their way to the front. Marching through the streets at the boarder between the Altean Cities and Kerberos.

“Those monsters are trying to take over Altea!” Someone screamed.

“They’re going to enslave us all!” Someone else shouted.

“Put them down!” A man laughed. “They’re just dogs!”

“Kill the tags! Kill the Galra!” A chorus of affirmative hooting followed. The large number of people holding guns and knives raised them to the sky, releasing a form of battle cry.

Down an alleyway, off to the side, a little girl kneeled over her mother’s dead body. She couldn’t have been more than seven years old, hair pulled back in a ponytail and her summer dress covered in the blood pooling at her knees. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she choked out a sob, bile collecting in her throat. Her heart was racing and her hands shook. She had basically gone into shock, refusing to believe that her mother had just been shot right before her. Eyes wide and lungs hyperventilating, she desperately dug her nails into the cold flesh of her mother’s arm. Her hands pulled away, drenched in blood, and she released an agonized screech.

The protestors passing the alley glanced over to her and her mother; a handful shouted something hateful at her, a couple laughed, most smiled. But no one stopped to help her. No one even approached her.

Because she wasn’t human to them.

The tags around her neck clanked with the ones on her mother as she hugged her for the last time.

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

**“Anti-Galra protests have intensified in the four Altean Cities surrounding Kerberos. A rise in Galra hunts have also increased in Kerberos with reports of the slayings of privately contracted Galra and mutt Galra. In addition, looting and pillaging has been rampant. Rights groups as well as some citizens are now protesting.**

**“In the hopes of restoring order, the government is calling for mercenary troops to be deployed, joining with government forces to reduce the chaos. An all-out conflict with anti-Galra factions may possibly be the result of this attempt so it is recommended that anyone travelling to Kerberos in the near future reschedule.”**

Lance rested his head on the table, listening to the radio report as Keith sat across from him in his usual chair, writing out sentence after sentence. It paid to keep up to date with the happenings in Altea since whatever impacted the entire area, would surely impact him. The estate was at the far end of West Altea, so he hadn’t seen any of the protestors, but that didn’t stop his worry.

He kept his expression neutral, hoping that Keith wouldn’t be able to tell anything was wrong.

**“The forces being summoned by the Altean Government are North Altea Mercenary Troops, East Altea Autonomous Forces, West Altea Mercenary Troops, and South Altea Commando Units.”**

Lance raised his head to stare intensely at the radio. He must have heard that wrong… right…?

**“Mass unrest is expected; stay indoors. We repeat. Mass unrest _is_ expected.”**

He glanced to Keith again as he wrote. Keith’s focus wasn’t on Lance, which was good since Lance was busy panicking. West Altea Mercenary Troops. That was Keith’s unit… Keith would be fighting the citizens of Altea on the front lines. Sure, Keith had a sword and an uncanny ability to survive great falls, but fighting against that many people, all with guns. They couldn’t honestly let Keith fight, could they? He was only seventeen. Would Keith survive? Would anyone look out for Keith in the battle? Would Keith even know what he was walking into?

There was a knock on the door and Lance followed the sound. In the doorframe stood Commander Sendak, smiling falsely as usual. “My apologies, Master Lance, but your bodyguard is needed.” If the smile wasn’t fake enough, the attempt at politeness in his voice would have given him away instantly. His calloused hand gestured to Keith, who still hadn’t noticed the arrival of someone new since the door was slightly behind his field of view.

Lance glared at Sendak then reached his hand over to tap the table above Keith’s paper, drawing his attention. Following the point of Lance’s finger, his eyes widened at the sight of Sendak. Lance had expected the commander to give some mocking instructions to Keith, but he just lowered his head slowly, maintaining eye contact, and tapped his finger to his wrist in the indication of a watch.

Quickly shifting his gaze back to Keith, he saw as a dawning realization shadowed the boy’s features, a sort of resolution in his eyes. He didn’t look to Lance, just set his pencil on the desk, reached over to pick his sword and jacket off the ground, then rose from the chair and marched over to Sendak. His head bowed as he passed the man, face to the carpet, and pausing to wait for the commander.

Lance shot out of his seat but settled a bit when he met Sendak’s threatening glare.

Keith was being taken to battle. Right away. There wasn’t even time for a goodbye.

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

History class was always boring. It was boring before Lance met Keith. It was boring even with Keith standing in the doorway. It was boring no matter what. But never had Lance been so unable to pay attention than after Keith had been whisked away to fight for Altea’s peace. Not only was it more boring without the company of the snarky black-haired boy, but the worry was practically eating Lance. He wasn’t sure if Keith was even alive anymore. When would the troops return? Would he return with them? As long as he was alive, that’s all Lance cared about.

“By 1926 the prisons were overcrowded. It was decided that Normals would be quarantined with the Galra in Kerberos. At the same time, there was an increase in refugees. This is why there’s such a diverse population in Kerberos nowadays.” The teacher droned, as usual, reciting the information in her usual monotone. Lance was just staring at his notes though, scribbling in the margins but drawing nothing in particular. The paper shifted slightly under his pencil and Lance could clearly see the other page underneath it. It was one of Keith’s practice pages that Lance kept.

‘Keith Kogane and Lance McClain’ was written along the bottom in Keith’s scribbly, first grader writing. It didn’t do anything to comfort Lance. What if that was all he would ever have left of Keith. Turning, he glanced to the window, staring out to where he had first seen the troops entering the estate property so long ago. He wished they would return then.

“The diversity can also be considered a problem and has caused civil disorder. In 1934, the first guild was established, The Blade of Marmora. This allowed for Galra to be used on jobs for clients under the supervision of their guild leader. It also allowed for Galra to ear some of their status back. During the 70’s, there was a balance of power, but the Non-Galrans were angered by the Galrans and they fought against them. The Galra, of course, fought back. This formed a troubling cycle.” She wrote something on the board.

_A troubling cycle…_ Lance absentmindedly thought to himself, still watching the birds outside. His fingertips trailed along the wrinkled page with Keith’s writing.

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

Keith stared down at the hoards of protestors pooling in the streets, stabbing signs into the sky with anti-Galra slogans written on them. The sword in his hand felt heavier than it ever had, slipping from the sweat on his palms. It wasn’t as if he had never done anything like that before, risking his life. It was, however, the first time he had someone to return to afterwards. And that made all the difference.

Around him, soldiers were scrambling on the roof of an abandoned building, setting up their guns and shouting down to the masses. Commander Sendak was at his side, rolling the sleeve of his jacket up and screaming orders at his men. Keith could see the veins in his forehead bulging as he strained his throat to be heard over the rest of the noise. Whatever he was saying didn’t matter to Keith.

An injector pierced through the skin on Keith’s forearm and he glanced away, staring into the clouds. It stung at first but the feeling was quickly replaced with energy and strength as the Quintessence flowed through him. Normally, he would never be given more Quintessence than was required to keep him alive, but Keith was a human weapon, and now was his time.

He flexed his fingers, feeling the relief flood his blood vessels and his heart beat in his ears. With a roll of the shoulder, he could feel the renewed vitality in his muscles. It was addicting; the feeling of being able to use his body to the full capacity. Quintessence was a drug, after all.

His arm was released and he turned back to the commander, watching as he shouted at him, pointing to the crowd below. The movements of his mouth were too frantic to be read properly but Keith knew what his job was. It was the same job he always had.

Gripping his sword tightly, he moved to the edge of the building, stepping up onto the lining. He stared down at the protestors once more. Then, his entire body twitching with the need for emancipation, he leaped over the edge, flipping through the air and twirling his sword. He aimed for a random man amongst the crowd as he fell. And all too quickly, his blade connected.

Keith sliced through the meat.

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

Lance sliced through the meat.

He picked the piece of steak up with his fork, and popped it into his mouth. Alone in the dining hall, the last of the day’s light speckling along the dinner table, Lance was left with just his thoughts. He tried his hardest to focus on the tenderness of his steak mixing with the garnish of sauce pooled over it, but his mind wouldn’t let him. No matter how hard he tried to dispel it, the thought always returned as if drawn by a magnet.

The last conversation he had had with Commander Sendak.

 

_Lance shot out of his seat but settled a bit when he met Sendak’s threatening glare. Still, Lance approached. No matter how intimidating Sendak was, he still had to answer to the McClain’s as long as he was under their employment. And Lance_ was _a McClain after all._

_Staring Sendak in the eye and oozing all the superiority he could muster up, Lance spoke. “Why don’t you bring actual soldiers? What’s he going to do against a mob? He won’t be able to–” Lance was cut off with the hearty laughter of Sendak._

_“I know you’ve gotten attached to it recently, but don’t delude yourself, Master Lance.” The smile on his face was genuine – for once – and it was not kind in the least. “Its job isn’t to be your friend. Its job is to kill and die on behalf of humans.” He sneered down his nose at Lance. “Nothing more. Nothing less.” The commander spat. And then, with a turn of his heel and a hard shove to Keith, they were gone._

_Unbelievable rage overtook Lance as he watched Keith being dragged away by that disgusting man who treated the boy like a dog. His hands clenched into fists, his body shook, his teeth grit, and it took every single ounce of self control Lance had not to run after them. It would yield nothing._

_All he could do was watch._

Lance bit into his food too hard, clanking his teeth on his cutlery in his simmering anger. _You better come back, Keith._ He chewed, livid.

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

Hot. Everything was hot. Sweat rolled down Keith’s forehead as he hovered over a man who was in the process of bleeding to death. Heat rolled through Keith’s body like fire, ticking and licking at his skin from the inside out. It pushed Keith to keep going, numbing his wounds and clouding his brain. He couldn’t think straight. Everything was blurring and all he knew was that he had to kill the man below him.

He stabbed his sword down into the man’s collarbone, using his prodigious strength to twist the blade. The man’s eyes were wide in horror and pain, his arm reaching out toward Keith in some sort of plea for mercy; it was already too late though. The man’s blood was pooling around him and he would be dead in a matter of seconds. That didn’t stop Keith from slamming his boot onto the man’s wrist, pinning him to the ground and leaning farther onto the hilt of his sword, forcing it deeper and deeper into the man’s chest.

It felt good to use his natural strength, but he didn’t enjoy taking lives. That was part of his job and his life. It just was. His eyelid twitched as a splatter of blood landed on his eyelash. Keith was completely drenched in blood and sweat, but none of that mattered. Why would it?

All around him, bloodied bodies of Altean citizens were scattered, missing limbs and piled across each other. You couldn’t walk through the streets without stepping on someone’s corpse. Half of them were riddled with bullets from his troop members, while the other half were slashed and stabbed to death. Only one member on the team could have done that.

Keith removed the blade from the man’s chest after he was positive the man was dead. It was slicked with layers and layers of blood from many people. Glancing around, Keith was sure that was the last person in the area and he returned to his unit. They were all yelling but he couldn’t determine the things there were saying since they were moving around to fast and stretching their jaws too much.

It also didn’t help that Keith’s unruly bloodlust was driving his thoughts, operating his focus. His muscles spasmed at random and although it was an uncomfortable feeling of having to run, jump, punch, kick, fight, kill, _anything,_ it was still better than being without Quintessence.

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

“Shit!” One soldier screamed. “There’s too many of them!” Aiming down another street, he gunned down another group of civilians carrying weapons and bloodied protest signs. “We won’t make it!”

Another soldier standing by him began yelling too. “Fall back! C’mon, now! Unless you bastards wanna die here!” He waved his arm through the air and bullets flew past him. Everyone around him began rushing through a street on the other end, some stopping to turn back and fire. Keith followed.

On the other end of the clearing, one of the Altean citizens crouched behind a box called out. “They’re getting away! Get some grenades over there!”

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

Keith rushed after the rest of his unit. He huffed out a breath as he clambered over the bodies lining the street. Suddenly, as he hurried along, something fell out of the back of his jacket where he had kept it shoved in the back of his belt. Keith turned back to see what he had dropped. The sign language book. The one Lance had given him.

Flashbacks of Lance handing the book to him with a bright smile on his face. How eager he had been at the prospect of Keith having an easier form of communication. His groomed brown hair and ocean eyes. Kind smiles and soft eyes covered up with falsely insulting words. Trust and friendship shown only to him. Overconfidence and emotionless demeanours directed towards everyone else. The fact he would go out of his way to connect with Keith and learn about him. How long had Keith gone only being treated as a dog, a weapon, a nuisance, a liability, a sacrifice, deadweight. And then Lance treated him like a person. It was baffling and Keith didn’t know what to do with all the emotions he was being shown as well as the emotions he was feeling for the first time. But whatever it was, he couldn’t lose it now that he had it.

 Everything about Lance. Everything about him was encompassed in that book.

Keith stopped in his tracks, watching as the book fell, clattering to the bloodied pavement. It all moved in slow motion for a moment as Keith’s eyes widened. None of his fellow soldiers noticed as he retraced his steps to grab the book. Unfortunately, even with his heightened senses from the Quintessence, he didn’t see anything but that book. His tunnel vision would be his downfall though, as he didn’t notice the grenade which sailed through the air not two feet from him.

Keith didn’t reach the book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It leaves off on a cliff hanger because I'm rude like that.


	8. The Games We Play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More physical abuse. This one is more implied so there's really nothing to skip, but just a warning anyways.

Hugging his legs to his chest, Lance rested in the library, his forehead on his knees. It had been around three weeks since Keith had left and he listened to the radio daily, waiting for anything that could indicate the status of what everyone was calling ‘The Altean-Galran War’. The radio was rested in front of him at his feet, in the middle of the aisle. His eyes were closed as the reporter spoke.

**“The South Altea Frontline is facing the chaos head-on. The death count is reported to exceed one thousand with tons more injured. We’re now going live to the on the field. Tell us what the situation is out there.”** The lady informed.

A man came on, shouting over the sounds of people yelling and guns firing in the background. **“I’m currently at what appears to be a large field hospital! It’s a scene right out of hell! Among the casualties are women, children, and mercenaries as well!”**

Outside the window to his left, he could hear trucks pulling up and loud voices. That wasn’t usual. He lifted his head to groggily glance at the window even though he couldn’t see anything from his vantage point. **“One mercenary troop was rumoured to be illegally employing Galra in battle.”** The radio continued to play but he ignored it, pushing himself to his feet and approaching the noises. His eyebrows were pinched in confusion. Men marched along the opposite side of the fence in the backyard. Each was wearing bloodied and burned camouflage uniforms. Some carried guns while others carried the handles of gurneys with bodies covered with clothes on them.

An indescribable feeling immediately engulfed Lance and he shot off toward the door, nearly slamming into several bookshelves and almost kicking his radio over in the process. He just needed to get to the soldiers. To get to Keith. Was he alive? He had to be. Keith had to be alive. It had been so long since he had seen Keith and he couldn’t wait another second. He had to be sure he was alive.

Lance slammed the door behind him, sprinting down the hallway again. He found himself racing through the estate due to Keith a lot. His feet were muffled by the carpet as he hurried along. Rounding the corner, Lance ran directly into something tall and solid, falling back to the ground. He rubbed his head and sat up on his elbows, prepared to apologize to whoever he had smacked into.

His eyes widened. “Uh…” The words on his tongue sputtered away. Terrified, he tried diffusing the situation. “I-I’m sorry father! I didn’t mean to…” He dug his heels into the carpet, pushing himself away from the man above him. “I was just trying to get to the troops, so…” Lance’s voice quaked as Mr. McClain’s hand reached down to clamp around his shoulder. He clenched his eyes shut and braced. “I’m… sorr–” Nothing happened. Lance deliberately peeked an eye open, glancing upward. He opened his eyes all the way and stared at Mr. McClain, confused. “Fa… ther…?” He squeaked.

He didn’t see the arm drawn back.

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

Soldier after soldier marched past the gate as Lance leaned on the bars. His face was pressed into the opening between two of the poles, watching and waiting for the one person he cared about. Everyone was covered in blood and cuts, bandaged and bruised. It only made Lance more and more worried when Keith was nowhere to be seen. He licked at the fresh cut in his lip, tasting the blood. His eye throbbed, purple and bruised. That shiner wasn’t disappearing soon, he knew. The headache in the base of his skull was stabbing him but he just kept waiting. Lance desperately wanted a cigarette but his father had found them on his person, stomping them into the carpet.

A stretcher came into his view, a body underneath the cloth on it with their face covered. It was shorter than any of the soldiers, almost like the body of a kid… _No…_ It grew nearer. _Please, no…_ As it was passing right in front of him, Lance pressed farther into the fence, gripping one of the bars so hard his knuckles began to turn white, cutting off circulation. _That’s not him. It’s not._ A hand was hanging out from the side of the gurney, dripping blood onto the pavement as they were carried along. It wasn’t definitive, but that hand didn’t look older like Sendak’s or Mr. McClain’s. It was the hand of someone young.

The emptiness that opened up inside of Lance as he watched the stretcher disappear was painful. Lance had only felt that hopelessness once before when his mother had died. And there he was once again, everything he had cared about; gone. He dropped his head, planting his forehead into the metal of the fence. His head felt too heavy to hold up. Tears welled up in his eyes.

A pair of black laced boots stopped in front of Lance’s slumped form. “Lance. It’s damaged.” A familiar voice with a warped speech pattern said. He quickly whipped his head up and stared wide eyed at the boy in front of him. Keith. One sleeve hung uselessly at his side, his arm tucked against his stomach in a cast. His other arm was outstretched towards Lance, holding the sign language book. There were burns on it and half of a corner was completely singed off. “Sorry.” He muttered. A bandage was wrapped around Keith’s head, covering his right eye. The other eye was still a sharp, electric thunderstorm of emotion where it stared directly at Lance as if memorizing everything about him.

A laugh of relief slipped through Lance’s lips and he couldn’t help but smile as he took the book from his hand. He didn’t look at it though, still just staring at Keith. “How’re we going to learn now?” A tear – which had already been forming in Lance’s eyelid – slid down his cheek. “That was the only sign language book in the library. Dumbass.” Lance sniffled.

Keith tilted his head to the side. “What happened to your face?” He asked, reaching his uninjured hand out to gently touch a bruise on his cheek.

Lance flinched slightly but didn’t stop him. He smiled mordantly for a moment, shifting his gaze to the ground. “I fell down.”

They both knew what he meant though.

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

Keith had to go back to the rest of the troop, merely for formality, to check in and report to Commander Sendak. It took forever, but the second he was released, Keith hurried out of the room and down to the hallway, his sword held in his good hand. Although they had never specifically agreed on a meeting place, he was pretty sure he knew where he would find Lance.

Jogging along past all the doors and up the stairs, passing maids who watched him in morbid curiosity, Keith finally came to the slightly ajar door of the workroom where Lance and Keith spent most of their time when they were indoors. He slowed to cautious stroll as he got closer, peeking around the door and into the room. Sure enough, Lance was there, a book opened in front of him and his radio set up next to him, his hand curled around the strands of hair on the nape of his neck. Keith smiled at the scene and opened the door enough for him to step in. Lance had his face rested on his one arm, the other sprawled out over the table.

Approaching, Keith could tell that Lance was asleep. His eyelids were closed gently and a piece of hair in front of his nose fluttered every time he breathed out. Lance appeared so much younger and more innocent when he was completely relaxed. Even with the bruises on his eye and the cuts on his lip, he was still tranquil.

Keith dropped his sword to touch the floor, setting it up against the chair across from Lance and slid his arm out of the sleeve of his jacket, plucking it off his shoulders and draping it over the cushioned seat. Then, he stepped closer to Lance and turned the radio on. He didn’t want to wake Lance, so he shifted the volume dial to the last notch and switched it to a channel which he knew was music. After he was satisfied with that, he gazed at Lance for another moment and settled himself onto the carpet, scooting over to lean on Lance’s chair. He curled his legs up to his chest, hugged his arms around his shins and laid his head onto his knees. Gradually, his eyes slid shut.

As he was nearing unconsciousness, a hand graced across his shoulder. Normally, that would have made him flinch, but it was so gentle that it wasn’t even startling. Keith shifted his uninjured hand up tp lace his fingers among Lance’s, resting their interlocked hands on the base of Keith’s neck. Lance couldn’t see it, but Keith had a delicate smile painted over his face as he buried himself farther into his legs.

They both fell asleep fairly quickly with the breeze from the open window tousling their hair and with their hands intertwined. Even with their injuries, everything felt light and rejuvenating. Neither of them woke up for awhile.

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

Lance stared at Keith intensely. Calculating and determining the exact move he wanted to make. Keith was going down. That was all there was to it. This would be it. His fingers flexed and he lowered his chin a fraction of an inch. It was a stare off. There was a twitch in Keith’s eyebrow as Lance studied his face for any cracks in his mask. His hands were poised and ready. Keith smirked at him. Lance narrowed his eyes. That was his chance, he flung his hand down. Keith followed after.

They both stared for a moment.

“A straight flush! Are you kidding me?!” Lance slammed his hands on the table next to him. Keith continued to smirk and swiped the pot – which was really just a pile of popcorn – over to the rest of his earnings. His pile was much bigger than Lance’s. Keith had won twelve times in a row already and Lance was much more frustrated than he wanted to admit. _“Cheater.”_ He picked up the cards in the middle and tossed them down in a huff.

Keith leaned his chair backwards onto two legs with his feet using the table to prop him up. He smiled smugly and popped a piece of popcorn into his mouth, never breaking eye contact. _“Loser.”_

Lance, the sore loser he was, reached over and stole a handful of Keith’s winnings. He didn’t make it far. Keith was shooting out of his seat and smacking Lance’s hand down before he was even halfway across the table.

In the end, Keith kept his share, and Lance glowered.

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

Through the window of the workroom, Lance watched as Commander Sendak upended a pill bottle into his palm. A single capsule tumbled into his hand and he handed it to Keith, who was stood obediently across from him, sword in hand. Lance could see the sweat slicked over Keith’s neck and staining his tank top. His breathes were laboured and he swayed a bit when he turned to walk back to the estate with the pill in hand. Tilting his head back and clamping his hand over his mouth, Keith swallowed it. Then he was gone back inside.

Lance turned away from the window and headed into the hallway, leisurely strolling down to meet up with Keith. Usually, he would wait for Keith to return to the room, but something was bothering him. The medicine Keith took. What was it for? He got it from Sendak quite often, in fact, the frequency at which Keith got the medicine seemed to increase over time. Was Keith alright? He didn’t appear sick? Maybe it was a little nosey of him, but Lance just wanted to make sure Keith was healthy.

Once on the second floor, he ran into Keith just coming down the hallway. To Lance’s surprise, he looked infinitely better than he did through the window. Keith stopped to wait for Lance to reach him. Lance smiled upon meeting up with Keith and they began to wander back to the workroom.

“Hey, Keith?” He began, walking backwards so Keith could read his lips. Keith tilted his head to show he was paying attention. “What kind of medicine is that? You take it a lot and I’m just wondering.” He laughed but Keith’s pace slowed and he glanced away from Lance briefly, before staring back at his mouth but avoiding his eyes. Lance furrowed his brow. “Are you sure you’re alright? It seems like every time you’re not with me, you’re getting more pills.” Lance halted his steps and Keith copied. A guilty expression flashed across Keith’s face before it was quickly replaced with a guarded one. “Are you not allowed to tell me what it is? Did the commander tell you to keep it a secret?”

Keith turned away again, nodding shallowly. _“You can tell me.”_ He signed, since Keith wasn’t looking at his mouth anymore.

“It’s Quintessence, Master Lance.” A voice cut through the hallway and a hand clamped on Lance’s shoulder, causing him to flinch. He looked up to see the cynical glint of Commander Sendak’s single eye as he sneered at Lance. “Keeps him alive, since he’s a Galra.”

Lance glared at him, disgusted. “Do you think that’s funny?” He spat, hostility dripping from every word.

The commander puffed air through his nose in amusement. “You find that upsetting, do you? My apologies.”

A pause. “My father was looking for you.” He hissed suddenly. “Maybe you should go report to him.”

“Of course, Master Lance.” The older man removed his hand from Lance’s shoulder and waved before disappearing down the hallway. Lance watched him go, disdain practically embedded into his features. He rolled his shoulder as if it would rid him of Sendak’s touch but he could still feel where the man had grabbed him.

There was a weird rustling noise behind him and he turned. Keith swayed behind him. The boy’s eyes were unfocused and he blinked forcefully. Sweat rolled down his forehead and neck. His breathing picked up. “Keith?” Lance moved closer to Keith but before he could reach him, Keith’s legs gave out under him and he plummeted to the carpet. “Keith!” Lance was at his side in an instant.

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?! You can’t help him?! You’re a doctor, aren’t you?! He’s not even injured that badly!” Lance yelled at the man in the white lab coat. His hands gesticulated wildly to the bedroom next to them. Keith was inside the room in a hospital bed. An IV was hooked up to his arm as he lay motionless, unconscious.

“No, I meant this time it’s just an infection from his wounds not receiving proper treatment. I think he tried to stitch them himself.” The doctor glanced at Keith’s sleeping form. “It’s nothing to be concerned about.” Readjusting his glasses, he frowned.

Lance stared at him for a moment. Then swallowed thickly. “This time?” He prodded, confused and angry.

The doctor ignored him, reaching out to lead Lance away with a hand at his back. “In any case, Master Lance, you should rest, you’re being hysterical and–”

Spinning around, Lance slapped the man’s hand away from him. “No! Tell me what’s really going on!” He roared.

“He doesn’t have long to live.” The physician sighed. “They often don’t though. It’s much more common than you might think but soldiers and the mafia often take in Galra simply to use them as human weapons.” He shook his head solemnly.

Lance took a step back, anger dissolving into disbelief. “Galra…?”

His mind flashed back to the serial code printed into the back of Keith’s neck. The constant stream of pills that Keith took. How he sat, curling himself into a ball on the floor, half underneath furniture instead of in chairs, like a dog. The boot print that had marked Keith’s forearm. His empty tags.

“That… can’t be right…” Fear crept up on him from behind. It translated into rage as he gripped the lapels of the doctor’s coat. “You’re wrong! It’s not true!” He shook the man, who held his hands up, attempting to placate the young boy. “I’ve read about Galrans! They’re monsters! They’re huge beasts! And th-they… They’re killers!” Lance screeched.

“Master Lance…”

Lance didn’t let him interrupt though. “He’s just a runt! I saw him trip over his own shoelace last week! He’s normal!” Sendak’s innocent smile when Keith had passed out on the lawn was recalled to Lance’s memory. Keith climbing the tree at inhuman speeds. “And that… That drug’s just to make sure he doesn’t get sick! You have to help him, doctor! Keith isn’t like them! He _can’t be!”_ Images of Keith, unmoving and staring down at the corpse of the man in front of him. Blood dripping from his sword. The way he had jumped out of the window. It all began to add up in Lance’s head but he didn’t want to accept it.

Horror laced his features, clear as day, and he turned to the opened door beside him. “He’s not… a monster…” Keith was sat up in his bed, inspecting the IV line stuck into his arm, confused. “He’s not a…” The whisper died on Lance’s tongue. Keith turned his head, making direct eye contact with Lance. Concern swept his face as he saw the scene before him; Lance clutching the doctor’s jacket and staring at Keith with pure panic.

“Please stop, Master Lance.” The doctor calmly removed Lance’s hand from the fabric of the lab coat by his wrist. “Don’t act like this. He is _not_ like you. He’s _not_ a normal human. That’s just how it is. The commander pays me to keep quiet about it.” He explained. “And to make sure I don’t report him to Kerberos. Even your father doesn’t know. I can’t keep Keith alive for long, I just can’t. The commander knows that. With enough money, anyone can get Quintessence but the commander just doesn’t think it’s worth it anymore.” He stared down at Lance with pity in his eyes. “You should be able to understand, Master Lance, even _they_ don’t wish for long lives.” He let go of Lance’s wrist. “Don’t make this hard on him.”

Lance’s knuckles turned white from how hard he clenched his fists, glaring at the doctor with such immense hatred. There really was no one in the estate who could help him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there it is! Lance knows Keith's big secret!


	9. Give Me a Sign

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another abuse scene. I will do the same as before and add a * at the beginning of it.

It was a lot to digest. A huge realization. Lance was seated on the edge of his bed, his hands clasped together with his chin resting on them. None of the lights were lit in the room; he hadn’t bothered to switch them on. He just sat in the dark. The radio played next to him and he listened to it as if it would give him an answer to the storm of questions in his mind.

 **“It is believed the suppression was a success however the anti-Galra resistance continues. The government has plans to dispatch military and mercenary groups again.”** The reporter informed. Lance narrowed his eyes. That would mean Keith had to go back to the frontlines soon. He would be used as a human weapon. The feeling he had felt when Keith first left pooled gradually into the pit of his stomach as he imagined Keith leaving again. It hurt too much, not knowing if he would ever see Keith again.

Galra or not, he was still Keith. He was still the same boy who was just now getting a chance to communicate, who didn’t have a real home or family, who was fascinated by smoke rings but had never smoked a day in his life, who dreamed of the sky and loved the colour red, who was amazing at poker and climbing trees. Nothing was different just because he was born of drugs and needed drugs to live. Keith was a lot of things, but a monster was not one of them.

Lance couldn’t let him be drafted again. Not again.

The words of the doctor skimmed through his thoughts.

_‘With enough money, anyone can get Quintessence.’_

An idea hit him. It was brash and completely ridiculous, but it would work.

Lance lifted his head from his hands and determinedly stared at the door of his room.

_‘Even they don’t wish for long lives.’_

_I’ll make our lives worth living._

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

Curled in a ball on the floor next to his bed, Keith absently flipped through the singed sign language book that he kept with him all the time. His hand was in the cast, making it difficult to articulate some of the signs, but he practiced the ones he could easily do. His IV line trailed along the tiled floor to his wrist. Every now and again it would get in the way of his hands but mostly it went unnoticed. The window above him was closed but the blinds were up so he could see the rain pattering onto the panes. It didn’t bother him, however, and he continued to practice.

Eventually, Keith got frustrated with the cast and sat up on his ankles to peer out the window. He rubbed a fist along the bandages around his forehead, scrunching up his face as he attempted to itch the skin underneath. It succeeded in pushing his bangs out of the way but not much else.

Then he spotted them. His troop. They were marching along on the other side of the fence, heading out. Keith hadn’t been informed of a mission but his eyes widened and he shot up. The IV line tugged on his wrist and he yanked it out, hissing at the prick. His book laid abandoned on the floor as he rushed out of the hospital room. Hair fluttering backwards and dog tags jangling around his neck, Keith raced through the estate and out the nearest exit he could find.

Due to the fact he was in the hospital, he wasn’t wearing any socks or shoes and the only bottoms he had were his old camouflage pants. His top was just a plain black t-shirt which did not protect him from the rain whatsoever, but he didn’t even pause as he sprinted through the backyard to the fence. Puddle of rain littered the grass, dipping in the ground. Keith nearly tripped in a couple but he just caught himself on his hands and pushed right back into running. “Commander!” He screamed as loud as his voice could go, hoping the would hear him. No one turned around or stopped. “Commander!” Keith tried again.

By the time he reached the fence, he was entirely soaked. His feet were freezing and his arms were covered in goosebumps. It was difficult enough to see through the rain but with his hair plastered straight across his face it just made it harder. His hands curled around the poles of the fence. “Commander!” He called again. That time it worked. Commander Sendak halted, turning to face him.

“We can’t carry your deadweight anymore” All the soldiers within earshot had also stopped to watch the scene play out. “If your Quintessence poisoning has gotten that bad, then you wouldn’t even be worth something in Kerberos at this point.” Keith struggled to read his lips through the rain. “I don’t need you.” He turned on his heel and began to stalk away from the property.

In a panic, Keith shoved his hand through the opening in the bars, as if trying to grasp something. What was he trying to grasp? “I don’t–” He didn’t finish his sentence, unsure of where he was going with it in the first place.

Sendak glanced back at him over his shoulder, smiling with more malice than Keith had ever seen on his face. “Stop trying to act like a human. You’re a mutt.” He laughed as he left, the rest of the troops copying him.

Keith watched them leave, just standing in the rain, becoming more drenched every passing second. The cast around his wrist felt like papier-mâché as water soaked into it. He let his hands slide down the slippery fence metal, eventually dropping them uselessly at his side. His mouth was opened slightly but no words tried to form.

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

“Keith!” Lance wasn’t sure why he was yelling out the boy’s name. “Keith!” But he did anyway. Maybe he was doing it for his own sake, because it certainly wasn’t for Keith’s. His excitement shadowed over his common sense.

The rain continued to beat down around him as he ran. His shoes sloshed and slipped, but nothing would deter his eagerness to get to Keith. Lance wasn’t exactly sure how long Keith had been standing in the rain, just staring past the gate, but he hadn’t waited for him to return. His news couldn’t be put off. Lance simply raced straight into the downpour with Keith. Although, he did regret not bringing a coat, but Keith didn’t have one either, so they could catch colds together.

“Keith!” He called again, like a fool. “It’s okay!” Lance was just rambling out loud. The bottle in his hands clicked as the contents rattled around. Finally, he stopped right beside Keith, jerking the sleeve of his shirt to catch his attention. The boy turned, staring at Lance through his waterlogged hair as it covered his face with his chin to his chest. Lance usually would have signed, or at least made sure Keith could see, but he was so thrilled that he couldn’t pause for even a moment.

“It’s going to be okay!” He reiterated. “You don’t need to work for him anymore! I paid him off! It was pretty easy, actually. We bought you and I’m your contract holder now! And look!” Lance shoved the pill bottle out in front of him to show Keith. “I got some Quintessence from the doctor, so you can…” What Lance had originally thought were raindrops, he suddenly realized were tears. Keith was crying. “Keith…?” He tentatively whispered.

Lifting his head to properly face Lance, he smiled. It was a smile that held a lot of meanings; freedom, peace, relief, gratitude, victory, exhaustion, love, disbelief. Lance didn’t move as Keith stepped toward him, reaching his hands out to cup Lance’s jaw. He stretched up onto his tip toes to match Lance’s height. Gently, Keith pressed his lips against Lance’s and closed his eyes. Lance kissed back and wrapped his arms around the small of Keith’s back, nearly loosing his hold on the pill bottle as he pulled Keith closer.

The rain continued to dowse them but neither cared. Until Keith quickly pulled away and sneezed into Lance’s collarbone and they agreed to go back inside.

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

Smoke floated up from the cigarette in Lance’s hand and he added to it as he exhaled into the air. He rested his back on the hallway wall behind him. His legs were sprawled out in front of him, extending into the hallway. The bruises on his face and chest throbbed. A stream of blood flowed from his nose and over his lips. Even when he tried, he couldn’t avoid getting some in his mouth. A button sat in the middle of the hallway next to a few droplets of blood. It had been ripped out of his shirt by his father around a half an hour earlier.

Lance brought the cigarette to his lips to breathe in the nicotine. Across the hallway from him sat Keith, hugging his legs to his chest as he usually did. He had his jacket on, the sleeves covering his gloved hands. His sheathed sword was held between Keith’s thighs, leaning along his shoulder and touching the wall behind him.

Keith had just joined him a moment earlier and neither had spoken yet. So, Lance broke the silence. Keith’s eyes hadn’t left him the entire time, probably waiting for him to say something. _“He caught me smoking.”_ He signed awkwardly with the cigarette in his hand. _“I’m dead if he catches me with a cigarette again.”_ Lance laughed bitterly, gesturing with the cigarette in his hand. “So, nothing’s changed at all…” Sliding his legs up to match Keith’s position, he rested his temple against his knee so he could still stare at Keith. “Except, hiding the whole situation with you is getting hard.” He lifted his face suddenly and swiped his palm over his forehead in frustration before lodging it in his hair, gripping. “God, if he found out about that…” Taking a long drag of his cigarette and slowly releasing the smoke into the atmosphere around them, staring absently into the distance. “I’m so tired of it all.” He muttered.

“Shou–” Lance turned to Keith. The words were cut off suddenly, though, as Keith switched to sign language. _“Should I kill him?”_

He stared at Lance in full seriousness, his eyes searching Lance’s.

Lance never answered, but he thought about it.

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

*Unsurprisingly, Lance did eventually get caught with a cigarette again. It was weeks later, but it happened all the same. Mr. McClain was a sick, revolting man and Keith’s gut churned with rage every time he saw the man or the marks the man left on Lance. He would have decapitated Lance’s father in half a second if he had any freedom, but he knew he couldn’t as long as Lance forbade it.

Keith had known that Lance was being hurt, but he had never witnessed it first hand. Not until that moment, anyway. He stood in the doorway, watching as Mr. McClain wrapped his hands around Lance’s neck, lifting him off the ground. It was enough to make Keith vomit, the way Lance’s feet kicked desperately and his nails dug into his father’s hands. Keith’s hand clamped around the hilt of his sword. His training and brainwashing was so deeply engrained that he was able to stand back, but it filled him with extreme helplessness.

He had never been more thankful he was deaf. The way that Mr. McClain screamed at Lance, and the way that Lance pleaded him to stop, all would have been far too much for Keith to bear had he heard it.

Keith seethed, shifting on his feet as Lance was thrown to the ground. Wrath swirled a storm within him and he narrowed his eyes. Mr. McClain raised his hand, bringing it down and striking Lance across the cheek. Keith rolled his shoulders as the fury built itself up.

Lance was there, being hurt. Lance was being killed right before his eyes. And Keith could stop it. He could so easily draw his sword and end the suffering that Lance was going through. End that man’s life. But he didn’t. Because every time he was close to pulling his sword out, Lance would hold his palm out flat at Keith, placating him momentarily.

Mr. McClain pulled Lance up by the collar of his shirt and Keith could see the blood dripping from Lance’s nose. His heart tightened in horror, but still, he didn’t move. Every second he stood there, following Lance’s orders, he hated himself and Lance more. Mr. McClain grabbed the still lit cigarette from the table next to them and seized Lance’s jaw between his fingers, holding him down. He brought the lit end of the cigarette toward Lance’s eye, which was opened wide in terror. His hands scraped against the man’s hands.

Everything moved in slow motion. Lance glanced to Keith with a beseeching look. His hands released the wrists of Mr. McClain. The cigarette moved closer. Lance skimmed a pointed finger over the palm of his flattened hand. It was shaky and nearly not a sign at all with how weakly he did it. But it was more than enough for Keith.

_“Kill.”_

He unsheathed his sword and charged himself at Mr. McClain at lightning speed.

The cigarette connected before Keith could make it, though, and a screech tore from Lance’s throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are almost at the end of this wild journey!  
> I also want to thank everyone for 50 kudos! That's not a whole lot, but most people don't want to read things that have the types of tags that this fic does, so the fact it reached 50 at all makes me very happy! Thank you!


	10. Following Orders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is almost entirely gore, just a warning.

The pain was unbearable. His eye was nothing more than a mutilated globule in his skull. Blood streamed out of the disfigured socket and onto the carpet as he hunched in on himself, holding his palm over where his eye used to be. He pressed harder and harder, as if it would eliminate the burning pain. It seared through his entire head, throbbing and pulsing. Lance couldn’t move. He gasped and choked out shallow breaths, losing control as he edged closer and closer to hyperventilation. Screaming and yelling echoed through the outside hallway but Lance could barely hear it over his own panicking.

On shaky arms, Lance pushed himself up into a sitting position. Tears were streaming down the one eye he had left. Saliva and mucous lined his mouth and he could feel bile in his throat. The abandoned cigarette was left crumpled in a heap at his feet, no longer lit or in one piece. He raised his head. As soon as he got a first look at his father, he let out a strangled cry and instinctively slammed backwards into the wall behind him. More tears fell, blurring his vision.

Mr. McClain was slumped against the opposite wall, his legs and arms spread out and his head lolled back. His suit was dishevelled, torn and sliced in various places. He was undeniably dead. There was no point in checking. His entire suit was dyed crimson red and there was a puddle of his own gore underneath him. A mark of blood splatter bigger than Lance was behind him on the drywall. There were sword slashes along his legs, arms, chest, and face. Anywhere someone could reach, there was a gushing carve in his skin.

“Fa… ther…” His voice was gravelly. “Fa… ther…” It burned every time he spoke. “Father, it’s not...” He could just hardly hear his own words over the beating of his heart in his ears. “It… it wasn’t me…”

Lance hadn’t even heard his father die over his own screaming in pain, but he was glad he hadn’t. Mr. McClain’s face was frozen in an expression of pure agony, blood pooling and dripping over his teeth and out of his mouth. Lance tried not to throw up at the sight and the smell, but he didn’t look away. Although there was more blood than flesh visible on his father’s face, he could clearly make out a single empty socket on the man’s left side. The same side that Lance had lost his own. Keith did that.

“Please don’t… father.” He sobbed. “I didn’t do this…” Lance’s limbs felt heavier than they ever had. “I didn’t mean…” He begged helplessly at Mr. McClain’s corpse. “Father…”

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

Slashing. Slicing. Cutting. Hacking. Ripping. Tearing.

Keith raced through the hallway, sword clutched in his hand, twirling and weaving it. Ahead of him, the staff of the estate screamed and tore through the house in a desperate attempt to get away from him. Keith just sprinted after them, eyes widened and enraged. Maids shrieked, ditching their heels as they hurried so they could run easier. Soldiers – who had been hired while the West Altea Mercenary Troop was being dispatched in Kerberos – stomped through the hall, turning every now and again to shoot at Keith, but Keith was too fast.

It wasn’t healthy, in fact it was very dangerous, but Keith had downed around four Quintessence pills. If Keith wasn’t as resilient as he was, it could have killed him. Instead, it just increased his strength and agility to their maximum, numbing his body to pain. Bullets that did reach him didn’t slow him at all. He didn’t even feel them.

A soldier tried to yell something to his teammate but before he could finish, Keith was already swiping his sword across the man’s neck. Blood gushed from the opening and he thudded to the ground like a stone. To his right, Keith could see another soldier pause to shoot him and he took the chance, slashing his knees and stabbing him in the neck when he dropped.

He didn’t waste any time in removing his sword from the dead man’s throat and pursuing the rest of the staff. One maid hadn’t gotten rid of her shoes because they were strapped on and would take more time than she could afford to lose. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t have mattered at all. Keith decapitated her. The lady’s body stopped instantly and crumpled to the carpet as her head rolled a foot away from the rest of her corpse.

Once he had finished, Keith stood amongst the dead bodies. He could smell the coppery scent of blood everywhere. No one’s clothes were clear of blood, not even Keith’s. His sword dripped onto the floor. He surveyed the gory scene around him for a moment before raising his head and stepping over a lady’s arm to continue through the hall. There were more people in the house, he knew it.

His neck cracked as he stretched it to each side. Rolling a knot out of his shoulder, he leisurely wandered past each door. Sword dragging, he left a thin line of blood right next to his boot prints. All his thoughts were directed toward killing, and protecting Lance. It was all that mattered. A large gash along his arm caught his attention and he frowned at it. When had he gotten that? Whatever, he was too busy to care.

Many of the doors in the hallway were opened and left ajar, but there was one door that didn’t feel right. It was just a broom closet though, nothing special. At first, he was going to continue past it, but the nagging at the back of his neck caused his feet to pause. He turned his head slowly to inspect the closet.

Among the propped-up brooms, between the shelves, a young girl with long, wavy, white hair was curled into a ball, another lady next to her, pressing into her side and holding a hand to the girl’s mouth. They were both shaking. Tears flowed from the girl’s crystal blue eyes as she stared at Keith in horror. Even with her dark skin and the lack of lights in the room, Keith could see as she paled. She couldn’t have been much older then Keith himself.

Keith readjusted his grip on the blood-slicked hilt of his sword and stepped into the closet, never breaking eye contact with the girl.

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

Lance stumbled through the hallways. Everywhere he looked there was blood and bodies lining the floor. He felt sick. His hand was still clutched to his eye and tears were streaking down his face. Stepping over a fallen maid, nearly slipping on the blood in the carpet, Lance hurried along.

He had to find Keith and stop him. This was all his fault. It was Keith and Lance’s fault. Keith wouldn’t have done any of that if Lance hadn’t ordered it. All those people would still be alive if Lance hadn’t done that one, shaky sign. His father, the soldiers, the maids; they would all be alive.

Words that Mr. McClain had once said to him suddenly filled his mind as he staggered. _‘This isn’t your world. You’re not like them.’_ Lance lurched into the wall, throwing his arm out to catch himself. When he pulled away, his hand was covered in blood and he wasn’t sure if it was from the wall or from his own eye. _‘You’re just a weak Normal to them. If you try to get involved in their mess, you’ll learn quick that you’re nowhere near their level.’_ Lance strained his ears, hoping to hear any indication of where Keith might be. He heard nothing but the squelching of his shoes in blood. _‘It doesn’t matter what they do, Galra are monsters. Their only reason for living is to obey and die for Normals.’_ Suddenly, there was a clanking sound down the hall and Lance turned to look in the general direction of it. Without a second thought, he launched himself toward the noise, toward Keith. It was coming from an opened broom closet at the end of the hall. He pushed the door forward.

_‘Lance. You can never be like them.’_

Keith was there, straddling the dead body of a girl. Her white hair was dyed red with her own blood and her hands were pinned to the floor with a broken shard of Keith’s sword and a sharpened piece of a broom handle. A gash along her neck had stopped bleeding, signalling that her heart had long since halted. Lance couldn’t distinguish which part of her face used to be what but he could still recognize her. Allura. In a bloodied heap next to her was another woman who Lance was positive must have been Mrs. McClain. Broom pieces and half of Keith’s sword were extending from her hunched back. The hilt of the sword was pressed right up against her collarbone. Another wave of nausea rolled through him.

“What… What did you do…” He was in shock and Keith just calmly stared at him. “Keith…”

The boy picked up the other half of his blade which had been rested by his thigh. It dug into the flesh of his fingers. He spun it around and aimed the tip of the blade directly under his chin, preparing to sink it into his neck.

Lance screamed and threw himself at Keith, smacking the blade right out of his hand and pushing Keith to the floor. It sliced Keith’s hand open before twirling through the air and clattering to the ground in the corner. Lance didn’t spare it a glance, however, he just gripped Keith’s shirt with shaking fists. “No! Absolutely not.” His voice wavered and tears dripped onto Keith but Lance couldn’t look up. “If you do this, I’ll never forgive you. I’m not letting you die.”

Keith just lay there, letting Lance get out whatever he wanted to say. “Not that easy! Not like my step-mother and Allura! Not like my father! You’re not going to die painlessly like this! You’re going to hurt! More pain than you’ve ever imagined!” He lifted Keith from the ground to slam him back down. “That’s an _order!_ An order, am I clear?!” Lance’s knuckles were turning white as he screeched down at Keith, who watched him with wide, surprised eyes.

Keith nodded then rapidly rose, reaching his hand out to Lance’s face. The grip Lance had on Keith’s shirt instantly slackened as his face was held by Keith. “It’s useless.” He muttered, using his fingers to spread Lance’s eyelids apart on his injured eye. “We need to remove it.” The fingers of his other hand came up to fit into the back of Lance’s socket. It hurt. Lance knew he couldn’t have the festering mass of aspic just float around in his skull, but fuck, did it ever hurt. Lance’s nails dug into Keith’s wrists, screaming as his eye was detached. “Lance.” Keith murmured, more in warning than anything as he removed the hand steadying Lance’s face to reach for a cracked slice of his sword. He needed to cut the optic nerve and blood vessels.

For the second time that night, Lance shrieked in agony.

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

Lance shot upward, screaming bloody murder. He was covered in sweat and his heart was pounding out of his chest. Flailing, he reached for something – anything – to steady him. Then a warm presence wrapped itself around Lance. His yelling tapered off and he attempted to calm his breathing. Without thinking too much about it, Lance reached his arms around and hugged the presence, pulling it closer.

Once he had settled, he finally realized what had happened. His heart was still pumping the residual adrenaline out of his system leaving him weak and shaky. Glancing down, he found Keith holding him tightly. Lance closed his eye and rested his forehead on Keith’s shoulder, huffing out a sigh of relief. They stayed that way for a while, Keith rubbing soothing circles into Lance’s back. Lance reached up to twine his fingers through Keith’s long hair until he felt calm enough that he could gently pull back to face Keith.

They stared at each other for a moment, tired and drained of energy. Keith pressed a short, comforting kiss to Lance’s lips and removed his arms from around Lance to sign. _“Your father?”_ He tilted his head in question. Lance nodded and Keith continued. _“You haven’t had that nightmare for awhile.”_

Lance sighed. It was true. Even though it had all happened some seven, eight odd years ago, Lance still got the nightmare on occasion. When the two of them were younger, he had had dreamt it over countless times, but as he got older, the dreams began to fade.

The darkened bedroom of their old apartment came into view, exactly as they had left it. Posters of the solar system covering all the cracks in the walls. A dartboard hanging about the small desk in the corner of the room. Amongst all the books on it, was a worn-out radio that Lance used for new reports more than anything. The bedside table on Keith’s side held the same broken lamp they had refused to find a replacement for, along with a bottle of pills and Keith’s tags. Next to Lance’s side was his table which held his eyepatch, a half empty carton of cigarettes, and an alarm clock. The two of them were in a good place and did nothing to dwell on the past, Lance knew, but sometimes it just seeped into his dreams without his permission.

Keith brought Lance’s attention back as he cupped his hands around Lance’s jaw and gently guided his face downward. He placed a tender peck to the jagged scar keeping Lance’s empty eye socket sewn shut, then leaned back again to smile lovingly at Lance. The two laid back into the pillows and blankets as Keith lightly dragged him down. Lance shuffled closer to Keith, entangling their legs together and resting his chin over Keith’s head. Keith hummed softly underneath him, eyes closed, and pressed his hand into Lance’s chest, curled into a sign. _“I love you.”_

Lance grinned and turned his face further into the pillow. He shifted his own hand into a sign and mirrored the movement, touching it to Keith’s chest. _“I really love you.”_ His eye slipped closed.

Shortly after, they both fell asleep again. Lance rested easy, as did Keith.

They’d be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp! That's the end! I hope you enjoyed this journey as much as I did! I want to thank everyone who read this for doing just that, it really means a lot to me that you would give my work a shot!  
> I also would like to thank my sister for betaing this for me.  
> Anyways! Thank you all and if you enjoyed my work, consider checking out my other stuff!  
> Cya!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read this!  
> This thing will update every three days!


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